


Of Rangers, Wolves and the Freezing Winter

by KryHeart_Ardy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, crossover AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2020-03-07 12:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 64,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KryHeart_Ardy/pseuds/KryHeart_Ardy
Summary: As winter approaches, old whispers stir and what were once mere legends crawl back into the world, but even legends merely scratch the surface. The Cold draws near, the blood boils in the deep. The Brewing draws much to this old land, such as a Wolf and a Ranger.





	1. In Cold Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardy: I am finally editing this and putting it back up.

    The air had a sharp hint of winter to it as the Stark family rode with the wolfs wood. The sky clear and fair. Jon road last in line but the scent of decay wafted over his nose. Clearly he was not the only one as his father dismounted and walked down the embankment and stopped with a sigh.

“What is it?” Ask Jon as he stood staring at the disemboweled dear on there path.

“Mountain lion?” Theon guessed.

“No mountain lions in these woods.” Eddard Stark shook his head slowly as he spoke softly. He glanced around the deer and found a trail of blood, and massive foot prints from no beast he knew off. He led his party away from the road, down a trail to a stream.

Finally he saw the cause of the blood though not the footprints as he knelt beside a huge grey direwolf, five pups mewling at her belly. He sighed deeply, what he would have given to see the wolf alive.

“It’s a freak.” Theon said from higher on the embankment.

“It’s a dire wolf.” Ned said, looking to his company. “It’s an awful waste.” He pulled a long piece of wood from the Direwolves throat, it was shaped oddly like a finger, gnarled and twisted.

“There are no Direwolves south of the wall.” Robb said coming down to stand beside his father his curiosity winning out over any fear.

“Now there are five.” Jon picked up a puppy and offered it to Bran. “Do you want to hold it.”

Bran took the puppy happily and cradled it to his chest. It snuggled with surprising contentment to his chest. “Where will they go?” The young boy of ten asked. “Their mother is dead.”

“They don't belong here.” Rodrik Cassel said, he had remained up open the road keeping a lookout.

“Better a quick death, they won't last long without their mother.” Eddard said and Theon jumped down the hill to the puppies.

“Right give it here.’ Theon said blade drawn, all too eager to do the lords bidding.

“No!” Bran said cuddling the pup to his chest and turned away.

“Put away your blade.” Robb growled as he intercepted Theon.

“I take orders from your father not you.” Theon said.

“Please Father.” Bran pleaded.

Ned shook his head. “I’m sorry Bran.”

“Lord Stark, there are five pups. One for each of the Stark children,” he paused for a breath. “The Direwolf is the signal of your house, they were meant to have them.”

Everyone looked to Ned, he breathed deeply twice and sighed. “You will train them yourselves, you'll feed them yourselves and if they die. You’ll bury them yourselves.” He turned away and Jon handed two puppies to his brother then gave Theon then two more.

“What about you?” Bran asked.

“I'm not a Stark.” Jon said the smiled sad at his half brother then heard a mew. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?” Robb asked sharply, walking over to Jon and helping him look around. Jon found the source first from under the roots of a tree he pulled out a small white pup.

“Runt of the litter, that one is yours Snow.” Theon said snidely.

Jon looked at his puppy then back at the tree, the water ran pale red with blood. He tucked the puppy to his chest. “My Lord!” Jon called out and leapt into the stream and started to charge up it.

“Jon!” Ned called but was force to follow, though he had to make his way back down the hill first.

The steam was cold and Jon made his way up it, around the bend beyond the bridge. The water grew steady redder as he moved upwards. The sight in the water stopped him in his tracks.

It was a woman, there was no question of that given her nude form, but her skin was the colour of ash and she had deep red hair so dark as to be almost black. Deep gashes covered her back and legs, as that was the only part of her Jon could see. Ned caught up to him at this point, “Jon.” He growled but then followed his sons gaze.

They both stared for a moment having never heard of an ashen skin people before. The rest of the company caught up and fell into the same pattern. Ned drew his sword and slowly approach the figure, Jon followed suit.

Gently he turned her over to lay on her back, more deep gouges covered her torso.

“Is it dead?” Theon asked, she did appear passively beautiful but Theon distrusted anything new.

Ned leaned over and listened for a breath, he was about to say no when a very slight breeze tickled his cheek.

“Her chest moved!” Jon said and was already pulling his cloak off.

Wasting no time Ned picked up the small woman and Jon wrapped his cloak around her. He ran back the way he had come, he passed the woman off to Jon, mounted his steed and they raced back to Winterfell.

* * *

 

Herian felt strange when she awoke, warm, that was rather odd. She hadn't expected to awaken, the last thing she could remember was trying to fight off that forest spirit. That poor direwolf and her pups. In seconds the fog was gone from her eyes and she shot upright with a shout. “The pups! Oww.” She hissed and pressed a hand to her stomach, her back was equally painful but she couldn't do anything about that.

“Easy easy.” Jon jumped from his set beside the window and pressed her back into the bed, pulled the furs up. “The pups are safe, here.” He picked his small white pup he had dubbed Ghost from the floor and put it beside her.

Herians fingers found the pup and it squeaked happy under her touch. “Sorry about your Mom little one.”

Jon pulled up his chair. “What were you fighting? The Maester was amazed that you are alive.” He watched her with wide eyes, his father had asked Jon to keep an eye on her. Part of him couldn’t get over the colour of her eyes, who had ever heard of red eyes like hers? Crimson with just a little bit of purple, he had heard stories about the purple eyes of the Targaryens. Maybe she was related?

Herian thought for a moment, her mind was foggy. “I never got a good look, it was dark and it got my eyes early in the fight.” She whinced as her chest ached as she breathed, tentatively she reached up and touched her brow. The slash had already healed.

Jon couldn't hid his disappointed expression. “I should go get my Lord, he will want to know you have awakened.” He all but ran from the room. Ghost squeaked at him as he went, Jon came back and gave it a pet. Promised to be back in a minute, then tore from the room.

Herian smiled at the pup. “Picked that one have you?” The elf stroked it behind an ear. “He seems a nice enough sort.”

She pulled her legs up and turned herself to sit on the edge of the bed and winced again. “Shit.” The Dunmer muttered and resisted the urge to heal herself as best she could, she could smell magic on the boy but it was faint. Wobbing to her feet and slowly stretched taking stock of her injuries. Her back was a mess that much she could tell, her stomach had three large claw-marks as well as a few on her thighs. The cuts on her brow had healed while she had slept, and she could feel all her wounds ooze slowly. With that Herian guessed that she had only been out for a few hours. Beyond her bandages she wore nothing, it probably wasn't a concern of whoever saved her at the time.

Glancing down, Herian trailed one of her hands along the side of her leg. The elf grimaced, while her back and front had suffered the worst of the injuries, the rest of her body had not been so easily spared. Shallow cuts and slashes marred the woman's bare flesh from head to toe. Claw marks and thin slits along her skin, where literal pieces of meat had been torn from her flesh. It was like a rusty, metal fishing hook had been plunged into her skin and ripped out without care.

Herian ran her hand through her hair with a sigh. “What a bother.”

None of the wounds were fatal, not even close. She was of very durable sort after all and they would heal swiftly. It was just going to be a pain to deal with in the meanwhile.

Whilst the woman examined her beaten body, a door opened on the opposite side of the room. Two sets of hefty boots marched through a large wooden door. Jon followed his father in, much to the delight of the tiny white wolf. It wagged its tail happily, as if it had been several hours since they had last seen each other. In front of the youth, Eddard Stark entered the chamber, still clothed in leather, with a large imposing sword sheathed upon his waist.

His expression was stern, serious, but not to the point of appearing cold like the winds outside. The colossal Stark turned his gaze toward Herian and gave her a quick once over. His stare did not last as long as Jon’s had, but it remained for a short moment.

“Well,” he mused, “If you are standing, then it seems your wounds weren’t as crippling as we thought.”

Herian turned her gaze from herself and took to the man in front of her. She recalled Jon's earlier words. He had gone to fetch his lord, which spoke much of the man if such words were to be believed. He was taller than her by a large margin, a long face with long brown hair with tints of black. His beard suited him with flecks of grey within it. He seemed strong and she could smell that he was healthy. Altogether he reminded her of a Nord, though she knew that he as not. She was drawn back to those eyes though, grey like a storm at sea. Oh how she loved the sea.

“I heal fast.” She stretched feeling the pull at her wounds. “I must thank you, I am not a creature of cold.”

Eyes unchanging, Ned lightly nudged his head to the side with amusement. “You are very welcome. But thanks aside, it is good to see you are healing. Many of my house were almost certain you weren’t long for this world. Those wounds had been rather grave, if I may.”

Glancing down at herself, Herian's lips curled into a frown. The worst of her wounds aside, many of the bloody injuries had healed back from the grave wounds they had been. Even so, the gravity of such scars were obvious to anyone whose eyes even brushed over them. It's hard to blame someone for thinking such thoughts after she was fished out of the icy waters. She was lucky they hadn't thrown her into a hole the moment she was seen by all. “I am not like your kind, such injuries are not uncommon to me.”

Eddard let a brow raise. “I had gathered that first fact, though it leaves us with many more questions. Your name for example and how you speak our tongue.”

    Herian bowed a foot elgantly behind the other, one arm over her chest the other out to the side level with her shoulder in a flick of her fingers. “I am Herian Indoril. And grateful of your assistance.”

In the rather quaint guest room, Herian's voice echoed forth with a feeling of sincerity and gratefulness. Her tone was that of someone who knew of the position she was in, and yet, was happy. Happy to be alive, and grateful to those who had saved her from the watery grave that was almost a guarantee if not for their efforts.

Across the woman, outwardly Ned showed very little reaction to the greeting. His bearded face held firm, still as stern and serious as he had been upon entering. He was somewhat like a wall, similar to the stone that protected them from the chilly embrace of nature, but inwardly, the man was surprised. Not by her choice of words, but the feeling behind it. It was strange, yet not unpleasant. Ned nodded content by her. “A very interesting name you have there. I cannot say I have heard of many like it.”

Herian grinned and said. “I am named for my Sire.”

Ned’s lips turned slightly at the corner at her strange word, but when on to say. “Greetings go two way I suppose.” He noted with a slight chuckle. ‘I am Eddard Stark, of House Stark. I am aware that you are already acquainted with Jon Snow.”

To the Lord of House Stark's side, Jon gave a slight bow at the mention of his name. Oddly, the small white pup at his feet did the same, though unaware of the importance of such a gesture.

Herian inhaled deeply and asked. “Why does he not share your name? He smells of your blood.”

Similar to the sound of a brick shattering against the stone ground below, the two men of House Stark stopped abruptly at the question, as off handed and curious as it was. Jon turned his gaze downward, suddenly overcome with the urge to look away. His gaze fell upon the small pup that now stood next to his feet. It had scampered over him during the commotion that followed Ned's arrival.

Of the man himself, Ned's steely gaze faltered, if just for a moment. It was as if he had been slapped in the face, though the hand behind it was too weak to make him flinch. “That is,” he muttered, “a topic not for this time.”

Herian lips turned up and her brow wrinkled. “As you wish, though I do not grasp why both of you look like you've been punched in the gut.” The elf rolled a shoulder, trying to get the stiffness to alleviate. “If you have questions ask, I will answer to the best of my abilities.”

Ned sighed, grateful for the change in subject; at his side, Jon did the same. Neither wished to discuss such matters with someone they had picked up off the streets. They got enough of that as it was, though on the matter of questions to ask, Ned scratched his chin.

“Will you now?” He mused. “That is good, for I do have a few. One for example, is the matter of how you are standing here before me to begin with.”

“Eh, a few different means mostly, hmm I do not even know if your kind has them.” Herian splayed her fingers over her chest. “I am a Hound of Hircine, lycanthrope or werewolf if that means more to you. It gives me great resistance to cold and the ability to heal from what would be fatal wounds to a man." The elf massaged her shoulder again. “That damn Leshen, at least I think it was a leshen.” She frowned thinking on what she remembered.

Jon blinked, he spared his direwolf up a small glance. The tiny creature merely crooked its head to the side confusingly, as if asked a strange question. “I'm sorry, did you say, werewolf?” The boy's words felt as confusing to him as they sounded out in the open. What exactly could that have meant-

Ned spoke up in the same moment. “I am sorry, but did you say Leshen?”

Herian started undoing the bandages around her middle and cut the ones on her back with a half formed claw. “Leshens are, hmm put simply bloodthirsty tree spirits. Very territorial it and the Direwolf mother were fighting over a deer, I intervened. I gave as good as I got, so hopefully you won”t have to worry about it. On the other hand if it does come back, I recommend steel swords plated with silver. As for your comment Jon." She stepped away from the bed and raised a hand. She let it shift, her claw grew long as the muscles warped and grew grey fur. She held the minor shift for only a moment before returning her hand to normal. Her stomach growled, transforming anything on a empty stomach was never wise.

Jon’s jaw dropped like an anvil, whilst his father's eyes shot open with shock. Father and son swiftly reached for their swords and took a large step back, near the point where their backs would hit the wall behind them. Fear, shock, surprise. All almost overwhelmed the duo, to the point of near non-comprehension.

Oddly, Ghost didn't seem too shocked. The small direwolf looked up at her before them with wide eyes, befitting of the young pup that it was. Herian knelt and beckoned the pup with a rumble from deep in her chest. Ghost let out a happy squeak and raced over for the pets.

Ned clamped his hand around his blade's hilt, if just to calm himself. “Well, that certainly is one way to answer a question.”

Herian chuckled softly and stood half collapsing back against the bed, she left like all the blood had rushed away from her head. “I figured it would best to show you something rather than try and convince you with words."

“Yes,” Ned noted, “That's, certainly would have been much more difficult to be sure.”

After witnessing the sight of a woman transforming a hand into the likeness of wolf and back, the Head of House Stark spared a glance at his son. Jon had remained standing despite his shock. The boy's arms and legs shook wildly, and his grip refused to release his sword.

Regardless of asking the very question himself; the boy looked terrified, Ned couldn't blame him, not one bit. Legends of the White Walkers were less bone chilling than what he and his son had just witnessed. That hadn’t even been all of what she could do, he was sure of that. To think Ned thought the Walkers were just a myth!

Shaking his head, the Stark took a deep breath and relinquished his grip over his weapon. Faster than his son could, Ned calmed down the best he could. Ned calmed himself down and sighed. “So then, you are one of these, Lycanthropes, as you called yourself?”

“Aye, a child of Hircine he is the Daedric Prince though you would call him God of the hunt.” Herian pulled a fur from the bed around herself, she could feel the cold creeping in and she was starving.

Ned raised a brow. “So you say? I’m afraid I'm not too familiar with such titles.”

In the land of Westeros, there were many legends and tales of beings, many of which were vast and different. There were the dragons, the creatures of the North, legends of people who could become closer to creatures than even skinchangers could…

Ned could not recall anything like a Daedric Prince. Though oddly, the name did not fill him with any sort of relief. The name sounded, ominous and a bit crazy too. Though given the current times of the land, that wasn't uncommon.

Herian chuckled and waved a hand tiredly. “Well if the colour of my skin didn't give me away, as not from here, I'm not sure what will.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “Think of Daedric Princes as Gods that will actually respond on occasion if you give an appropriate offering. For example for Azura, she is the Daedric Prince of Dawn and Dusk, you would offer her ectoplasm. If she has a task for you she would speak to you, sometimes appear before you, others just talk in your head.” She chuckled. “Though my family rarely needs to talk to her, my grandmother is her champion. She is rather on a first name basis with the Prince. Oh.” she slapped her forehead. “We call them Prince but they pick which sex they wish to appear in. Azura is always female, Hircine male, Mephala will change to who she is trying to use. Uhh. Hmm. None of this making any sense to you is it?”

Ned blinked. “Not particularly.”

Jon stared forward, a numb expression on his face. The young youth glanced down at his white pup and gave it a confused look. The little hound merely glanced back with a similar expression. Ghost was about as close to understanding what was going on as Jon was, and Ghost was a newborn too boot.

“To say that this wasn't the explanation I was expecting would be all too true for words. At this rate, you're likely to say that you come from beyond the wall-” Suddenly, Ned stopped himself. “Actually, don't answer that.”

After that rather expansive fill of information, being known to be from a place stranger and more bizarre than what lies beyond the wall to the North may be too much for one to bear. Jon looked as if he was clueless enough as it was. Poor lad, he had much to learn. Though this, wasn't was his father had in mind.

Herian giggled at that, a high sweet sound. "Probably wise, if Daedra are a bit much for you my homeland would probably make your mind explode. Any other questions? If it’s alright with you, I'm hungry and I need to go collect my things. I left them by the road before engaging the Leshen.”

Jon blinked, seemingly snapping out of his confused stopper. “You merely left your belongings along some random roadside, just like that?” He asked, how easy would it have been for someone to just stumble upon her things and claim them for themselves? Bandits weren't known around these parts, but anything was possible.

Ned shook his head. “I’d imagine she would have hidden them rather well. Would be troublesome to have some random creature drag off her attire into the night. I have more questions but they can wait.”

As stoic as he appeared, the Stark had many more questions to ask. Herian's answers had done nothing more than bring forth more questions. Though of course, getting some straight answers could be difficult on an empty stomach. That and, she did look cold, for obvious reasons. Ned frowned, it was a tad odd that the woman hadn't said a thing about her current, lack of attire as of yet. Even the more bold lasses in Westeros would rather mind being bare to the world, especially in the current set of weather.

Days were getting colder, the winds sharper. The summer days had grown much shorter and the painful reminders were harder to ignore. Winter was coming, again after so many years of a peaceful summer. Though to many, even in the North, it was hard to consider things, peaceful. _Then again, I am talking to someone who just, changed into a beast even direwolves paled in comparison to,_ he inwardly sighed, _What a bothersome day it has been._

Finding the direwolves had already sparked a rather big change, but this? It was things like this that made Ned miss the North, least he could comprehend the things that happened up there. Down in the south, things just felt off; he glanced at his guest again.

Herian drew the furs around her a bit better, normally she didn't get cold. Perk of being a werewolf, but between fighting, healing and two shifts, the energy that usually kept her warm was long gone. She watched Ned, trying to work out what he was thinking, the elf thought it must be very strange. His people didn’t believe in magic, he must be trying to figure out what it all meant. The elf felt her ears twitch forward when he frowned, she felt blush creep up into her cheeks. She loved her ears, they were endlessly useful, but Khajiit mixed with just about any other race, much less a dark elf. Was very rare, so she had little quirks, her ears occasionally reflected her mood.

Her features were much softer than a normal dark elf, she even had that extra bone in her throat, that let her purr. The man before her was a confusing he looked like a Nord but if all the furs he was wearing was any indicator. He had no magic, and yet she could smell it on him, but she couldn’t tell what type. As humans went, he was very confusing, from what she had gleaned from most of the humans. Was that they were more likely to cut her head off because she was different then save her life. She shuddered think how werewolves were usually treated, though it had been better since the Nerevarine had devoted a section of her army to werewolves. Her grandmother had described them as the ‘ultimate cavalry’, plus werewolves in armour were terrifying. Rather then comment, she decided to watch the human male.

Ned ran his hands over his face. Thoughts weren’t going to give the man anymore answers. The Stark knew that merely grumbling over his confusions would only make them worse. If he were to find his answers, he'd have to do it the hard way. Though this time, without the use of Ice, his colossal Valyrian greatsword.

The man settled his gaze back on the trembling woman. He sighed. “Jon.”

“Yes sir?” The youth replied.

“Go fetch some food for our guest, and a cloak as well.” Ned told him. He then turned back his gaze back to the elf. The woman still sat on the bed, clutching the fur from the bed.

“I won't assume your size of attire, but something to help would the cold seems more appropriate than the bedding.”

“Yes sir.” Jon retreaded from the room Ghost on his heels.

Ned silently watched as his son departed. The raven head youth rushed out of the wooden door with a purpose, as did the small pup that scampered on behind him.

The Stark almost chuckled. The direwolves had only been with them a short time, and yet even the scamp of the litter had taken a liking over his son.

“Thank you.” Herian said and asked. “Where am I? Forgive my ignorance but side from the occasional hiding in a corner of a tavern. I've avoid your kind.”

 _So that is how she learned our tongue._ “My apologies, you are within the castle of Winterfell."

“That would be the castle on the plains? I generally stick to the forests.” Herian stated.

“Yes.” Ned nodded, the Stark crossed his arms over his chest. He could understand that, some weren't made for living in massive structures. She had the air of one such person.

“Whilst we wait for the boy to return,” Ned mused. “Would you mind if I asked you another question? Not of, where you are from though.” There had been enough of that for one day, least in Ned's opinion.

Herian smiled and said. “Fire away, you're the first human that I have meet that I find enjoyment in speaking too.”

“A shame that is," Ned sighed regrettably, “But not surprising.” Even without war, bloodshed often proved much more common than the act of speaking out. Be it in the North, on the Wall, or closer to the South, people rarely spared the effort to talk. Especially for those who they saw as different.

“But that aside, I cannot help but feel curious. What are your plans from here? It is thanks to you that we now have many new, rather small additions to my house, and with your,” he paused. “unique position, I cannot but wonder.”

Herian shrugged. "I would like to find a way to repay you for your kindness. But I know very little of what you would need, I can help with the pups if the need arises and I am a bit of blademaster, and a hand to hand combatant. If you don’t mind I would like to linger till I figure out how to help, my armour hides all my skin so my race hopefully won't cause you any problems.”

“You wish to repay me?” Ned asked, surprised.

Whilst the matter of her debt was obvious, the Stark had not imagined her outright declaring her intent to be so simple. He had imagined the matter would have to be solved through some, bargaining of some kind. Perhaps offering her a place to stay in exchange? That seemed reasonable.

Ned glanced at the ground and sighed. “Whilst your offer to help with the pups is appreciated, that would be rather difficult. Whilst I allowed them to stay within my House, it was only under the matter that my children would solely be responsible for them. They would have to take care of them by themselves, with no assistance of any kind.” It was a fair deal to the Stark. He trusted his kin, and they were a responsible lot. Hell, Jon's pup already seemed to take a liking to the raven haired youth, even if he looked rather confused about the whole thing.

Though, confusion wasn't uncommon when it concerned Jon.

“Why are you surprised?” Herian cocked her head to the side in a very wolf like gesture. “I have no coin to offer, all I have is my skill. I can teach and train, a position comes to mind but I doubt you have a same word or position in your culture.” She tucked a stray red lock behind her ear, then she smiled. “I am glad you allowed your children to take the pups and your reasoning is reasonable.”

“I just find that the lads need some responsibility,” Ned explained, “And some pups will certainly do that. Course, it doesn't help that they are quite good at convincing me. Still, it is not the matter of your skills that I call into question, not at all. Really, it’s more so your eagerness to do so. One does not offer themselves into the house of another without more than merely hoping to repay a debt. It’s a rarity, though not one is would go unappreciated.”

“Ah.” Herian tapped her chin again. “How to put it, I was raised in a place where what you could do, is more important than where you come from. Hence why I offer my skill. Things like debts are taken very seriously, and from my understand of here. Kindness is a rare trait among humans, and should be responded with in kind. You saved my life, I would not really be willing to part ways with you till I've saved yours at least once.” She scratched the back of her head. “I don't know, if I were home, I’d already be on a knee asking for permission to pledge myself to you. For you to be my Thane, I don't think you kind has a word that reflects what that means. Think of it as a life bond or pledge, were we at my home, and you a new Thane. I would serve as bodyguard as well as several other things but you already have those things so I won't go into them.” Blush crept up into the elfs cheeks. “It probably seems silly to you. We take debt of one's life very seriously.”

“Not at all.” Ned focused his gaze on the woman's face. The Stark's eyes narrowed at the twitches, the shifts, every little way her expression changed. His ears listened closely for a change in tone, a shift in her words. Anything that would help led to any uncertainties. Lies, misleads, any sort of stretch of the truth she might have been spinning. There was none, not from what Ned could tell. “All of that is fairly believable, not something I would consider 'silly'. If that is how you feel about my involvement in your rescue, then who am I to deny how you feel? That would be rather rude if I were to say no.”

Herian smiled slightly. “Thank you for believing me, not many would.” She dipped her head in a bow. “Will you be my Thane? I would be yours to command as you see fit.” The elf hopped off the bed leaving the pelt she had borrowed from it, and knelt before Ned. Her deep red hair tumbled over her shoulders, hiding most of her nudity.

As the woman knelt at his feet, Ned couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed. The man blinked down at the person in front of him, almost at a loss for words. After a moment though, the Stark chuckled. “Well, to be truthful, I'll admit that this is not what I had expected to happen  today. But, how could I deny such a plea?”

The massive man raised his shoulders and straightened his footing. He uncrossed his arms and laid one of his gloves upon the hilt of the massive blade at his side. He did no grip it, but the leather glove rested on the very tip of the grand sword.

Herian said grinning. “Nor did I expect to get my butt handed to be my a Leshen.”

“Ah, fair enough.” Ned chuckled.

The Stark knew not of what a Leshen was aside Herian's description, but from what he could tell? His future vassal might want some revenge on such a lowly creature, like a hunt that had gotten away after a close call. Either way, Ned swiftly unsheathed the blade at his side.

Ice. A massive greatsword, large for even the most colossal blades. For most knights and warriors of steel, the weapon was impossibly large to wield. It was akin to wielding a massive piece of metal over your shoulder with all one's might. Yet, Ned lifted the blade as if nothing was wrong. Both hands wrapped themselves around the hilt and held it tight, as if it was a normal blade.

The lord of House Stark raised the ancient piece of steal and rested one side against Herain's left shoulder. “Herian Indoril, child of Hircine. For I know not of the house you come from, nor the lands you hail from, you stand here now, offering thyself to my house.”

Herian bowed her head forward. “That I do.”

“Under the banner of House Stark, the Wolves of the North, the keepers of the Wall. Under such a banner, thyself would be called upon to stand by those of this house, to fight by the name, to uphold what is known and fight for what is thought of as right in the name of such a banner. Are you aware of this?”

The elf nodded once more. “I am.”

“Until thy death or until dismissed from service, your be bound to this banner, forevermore. A wolf among the North's banner, with weapons in hand, steel at the ready, and nerves as cold as the coming Winter. Do you vow under this banner? Forever more?”

“I do, my blade, fangs and claws are ours you wield.”

Ned gave a sharp nod. “Very well then.” Raising his blade, the Stark transferred the colossal sword from one of Herain's shoulders to the other. So swiftly that the blade was more of a brief wind, rather than a hunk of steal. “Then, by the light of this sword, I declare thou under the banner of House Stark, a vassal to myself, and all those who go by the name Stark, in the North and all of Westeros.”

“You have my thanks my Thane.” She looked up at him with a smile.

Ned chuckled and sheathed his Valyrian sword. “Thane? A particular title. That might take some gettin accustomed to.”

Still bowing before her new lord, Herian had a hard time keeping a smile from appearing on her face. The elf opened her mouth to say something, but just as her lips parted-

Against the chamber's thick wooden door, a sudden knocking filled the room.

Herian shot up from the floor and whipped the fur from the bed.

“Enter.” Ned called to Jon.

The youth came carefully through the doorway, a tray of bread and meats in his hands a large black cloak over an arm.

“Food!” Herian beamed grinned, her ears flicked forward and took the tray from Jon and put it on the end of the bed. She blushed when she realised she near shouted. “Sorry, but I am hungry.” She hopped back up onto the bed and tore into a chicken drum.

Still standing in the doorway, Jon blinked. The youth glanced down at his has and clutched the air. He hadn't even felt it as the tray was taken from it. For the young Stark, it was like the tray was there one moment, and the next? It was gone, just like that. At his feet, Ghost didn't even seem to realize what had happened. “Huh. Well then.”

With the food matter taken care of, Jon lifted the large cloak off its arm and glanced at a nearby chair. "I'll just place this over here, if that is alright?"

Herian nodded and tapped the tray and made an offering gesture to the two men, as she chewed on her piece of meat.

Ned raised his hand and kindly refused. He wasn't hungry.

Jon did much of the same, though his refusal came as a mere shake of the head. For some reason, the young Stark had a feeling he had missed out on a great deal of something. Though he wasn't sure if he wanted to know of WHAT it was.

Whilst the two Stark men respectfully refused the offering, a certain white pup ran up to the side of Herian's bed and looked up. The direwolf's tail wagged playfully and the little one's nose twitched at the smell.

Herian swallowed and grinned at the puppy and swept him up into her lap, the pup jumped off and gazed longingly at the food. The elf chuckled and made a deep rumble in her chest, picked up a smaller piece of chicken and offered it with another rumble.

Ghost gave a happy yip and snatched it from her finger, the two wolves devoured the remaining meats and Herian polished off the bread. Ghost flopped on the bed his little belly expanded, the red head purred and petted the pups tummy. “He is so cute!” She cooed at him.

Off to the side, Jon chuckled at the pup's affectionate display. “Well, maybe he'll take a better liking to her than me?”

Would be nice if Jon wouldn't be known as the runt of his family due to the tiny white pup that followed him around like lost child. Whilst the boy watched, the lad's sprawling father marched over to the boy and slapped him on the shoulder. The sudden thud nearly sent Jon stumbling forward with his face smacking into the floor.

Came close though, much to Ned's amusement. Were it so easy.” He chuckled. “I don't think the pup will be leaving you alone for too long.”

“Your father is right pup. I can just talk to dear little Ghost here.” She made a lower rumble and the pup got up and sat on the end of the bed and whined. “He wants you to pick him up.” Herian said, getting up off the bed with cat like grace and swing the cloak around her shoulder, pull the hood up to mask her face. “Shall we go find my things? I'll need a guide, I have no idea where this place is in relation to where you found me.”

“Ah of course.” Ned nodded, she had mentioned needing to gather her things.

As he mused on the subject, Jon walked over to the bed and glanced down at the tiny pup. The tiny wolf sat at the very edge of the bed, like a small puff right at the end of the surface's sheets.

Ghost glanced up at its 'master' and tilted its head. Again, the tiny beast let out a whine. Just looking at the creature made Jon sigh. How his brothers and sister could deal with these creatures were beyond him. He wouldn't admit it outright, after all, in a few years it would be almost unbelievable. It had a cute little look when it made such a face-

“Jon.”

As if a sword had been pressed against the back of his neck, Jon shot up in an instant, “Yes?”

“Herian requires a guide, and whilst I would do such a task, there are matters here that must be taken care of.” Ned told the boy. ‘Thus, I need you to accompany her to where she needs, understood?”

“Yes Sir.” Jon said and picked up Ghost, the pup rubbed its head affectionately against Jon’s shoulder, then the youth gestured to the door.

Herian pulled the hood down a bit more. “After you.” She have a nod to her Thane, then set off with Jon. The sun was low in the sky and most of the household had retreaded indoors, the pair made their way to the stables. The ride back to the forest was a long one, Herian resisted the urge to put her head on a swivel as they went. Eventually they came to the spot where the Starks had found the dead deer.

“Wait here.” Herian hopped off the horse. The elf disliked horses, though it would take an awful lot of convincing to get her to admit it. Herian ran over the edge of the road and Jon watched her scale up a tree, but jumping off of two beside it. He had never seen someone so fast before, how she got the purchase to make the jumps, he could only guess. Finally the elf snagged a large black bag out of the tree and dropped to the ground with a thud, only to move out of his view. Jon figured she was getting dressed and looked away.

Several minutes later her voice, all but purring drew his gaze back. “Much better.” When he turned to look he was stunned yet again.

The Dark Elf wore all black armour, it was perfectly crafted to her and hugged every curve, the plates over her chest curved to meet in the back, thin red lines flowed through the armour, following each plate. The armour did not disguise that the wearer was female, but nor did it flaunt it, the gauntlets ended in sharp claws, the rest of the suit followed the same design. Lastly her helm, was less of a helm and more of a mask. It fit closely with her head and hid all of her skin, the 'face' of the helm mirror hers closely, only cementing the idea that the armour had been made special for her. He could see the blood red hair of hers tumbled out of the bottom.

The elfs weapons made him pause even more, he counted four blades, two on her hips of a make he did not recognize, and two on her back much smaller if the hilts was anything to go by. Lastly was the composite bow also on her back, it was all sharp lines and sweeping curves, with a matching quiver. All the weapons were made out of the same black metal, all had veins of red that glowed softly.

“That wouldn't protect you from the Leshen?” Jon asked eyes wide.

“It slows me down to much, it’s good stuff but if the Leshen managed to root me. Which it probably would have, then I would be completely dead after the encounter, rather then just mostly dead.” She opened the much smaller bag and pulled out a large swath of grey cloth and set about wrapping it over her armour till it disguised her chest and most of the amour. Then pulled out another and wrapped it around her hips; till it over everything to the top of her boots, while still leaving her legs free, then she picked up the cloak she had been given and arranged it to be under her weapons on her back, lastly she set the bag as it still had a few items in it over her chest.

“There.” She said with a grin Jon could hear.

“Much better.” Jon agreed and had to laugh at the little jumping hop she had to do, to get into the saddle.

“Oh shuss. We do’'t have horses in my homeland. I can win a race on a Guar, but I'm hopeless with a horse. When I want to get somewhere fast in a hurry I just call out my wolf.” The horse shifted under, the elf slid forward in the saddle. “Woow.” She patted the horse neck.

“You did fine on the way out.” Jon said.

“I was putting on a brave face.” Herian admitted.

“Do you need lessons?” Jon asked.

“Pretty please.” Herian mewed as the horse shifted again.

They way back was much slower going then the way there, though they did have their steeds going a slow trout rather than a walk. Little did they know, Ned watched the pair come back over the plains and had to smile as the elf fell from the saddle. Ghost jumping around the pair then ON the fallen elf. Jon would say a few things and she get back up and try again, their laughter filled the courtyard when they arrived.

 


	2. Small Steps

            The hour was late as the folk of Winterfell gathered for dinner in the great hall. Unbeknownst to them they were observed from on high. Herian wore nothing but a tunic and breeches as she prowled on all fours on the rafters high above everyone. Her claws dug into the wood as she peered down, trying to match names to faces. With her keen ears she could pick out most conversations. Still she was still rather far from where she wanted to be. Ned and Jon were often busy and she wasn’t ready to be seen to much. Especially by humans.

            Instead she had discovered that Winterfell had a rather astounding collection of hidden passageways. She had discovered one by following Bran around for the day. His climbing habits made her nervous and she had promised to protect the family of Stark so she followed him. Like her he seemed to like high places, which she could understand but he had no claws so she wasn’t sure how wise it was for him to climb. Watching him often made her wish she had a tail like her father, the mixed breed could just hear his words in her head. _“All the better to climb with my dear.”_ Yes those with tails definitely had an advantage. She had even humored the idea of growing her wolf one with her claws but wasn’t sure if she could maintain the partial shift.

            Still exploring Winterfell was proving to be a great deal of fun. She had even found a few places were pipes had burst and had taken to leaving little notes to the masons with directions to those locations. Herian reached the end of her rafter she looked over at the other well over two meters away but if she followed it she’d be able to get over the high table and finally be able to watch the Stark family as a whole.

            The red head drew her legs up under her and let more a shift through, her legs shifted over to give her more power and her tail flowed forth. She wiggled on the spot prepping her leap, doing the math. She pounced soaring forward her tail swishing to make little corrections. She just got her claws into the board but a foot slipped and she dangled for a moment before heaving herself up. _“Well that was undignified, defiantly need to practice more.”_ Herian mused and quickly crawled away from her little moment of embarrassment.

            She found a junction of two rafters giving her a nice big comfy area and curled up on her side with her head over the edge, ears flicked forward. To listen.

            Eddard of course sat in the middle of the table, Catelyn beside him and their children all around. The lycanthrope studied each face, she knew the eldest was Robb a boy of fourteen. She did note that those around him treated him like a full-grown man. Herian wasn’t sure whether or not to take issue with that, sixteen was the age of maturity among Tamriel… for the races of man at least. Though in her observations most humans weren’t full grown till early twenties. He was what she guessed passed for pretty, taking after his mother in hair colour, blue eyes and a stocky build. Beside him was the girl Sansa very akin to her mother and thirteen. She sat with her sister Arya and they seemed to be arguing about something, down beside Arya was Jon. He looked very different to most of his siblings more akin to his father, it seemed that only he and Arya took after their father. On the other side closet to their mother was Brandon and Rickon, red hair and blue eyes, very Tully.

            Herian cocked her head, from her listening the Tully’s were a southern house. So she was wondering why they had married into a northern house. She imagined it must have been for an alliance but to what end? Ned talked with all his children but Catelyn only talked with hers. Herian frowned, she knew that Jon was a bastard she could smell that after all. However whatever had brought him into Catelyn’s life she seemed to ignore him, even going so far to frown at her husband when he spoke with Jon. Was being a bastard really that bad in this world?

            Arya was bouncing her in seat as she asked her father. “Where did the woman you saved go? I’ve been trying to find her all week but she is like a cat and vanishes.”

            “Well maybe she is just like the cats and doesn’t like it when you chase her.” Jon reached over and ruffled Arya’s hair.

            “Hey stop it!” Arya batted his hands away.

            “Please leave her be Arya, from what I do understand of her we are all very new to her as is how we live. I imagine she is exploring the castle on her own and striving to understand all of this.” Eddard smiled at Arya, he always adored her enthusiasm for new things.

            “Then I could show her around! Bran and I, we could all go climbing together!”

            “No climbing.” Catelyn said.

            “But mother!” Bran and Arya whined.

            “No climbing, there is no one to catch you should you fall and break your backs.” Catelyn could hardly bare the thought.

            “We never fall.” Arya pouted and crossed her arms.

            “My love Arya does bring up a good point. I don’t believe I have even met your new vassal.” Cat turned her attention to her husband.

            “She has done a rather impressive disappearing act, I have seen her around though. It seems she can make herself be seen only when she wishes to be. I have heard that little very poorly written notes have been appearing in the masons hall. Sometimes they are even just drawings and bits of pieces of maps. When investigated they lead right to flaws in the stone or piping. So I find it safe to say that Herian is learning Winterfell and will let herself be seen when she is ready.”

            Herian couldn’t help but smile as she listened, her tail swishing over the wood sometimes kicking up dust. While she didn’t understand Catelyn yet, it seemed Ned was the observant sort.

            Jon dusted off Arya’s hair as grey dust fell into it and looked up. He could just make out Herian’s startled jump as she vanished to hide better on the rafter. Ned followed his gaze and could guess. “See, she is learning us from a distance that is comfortable to her.”

            “How did she even get up there?” Catelyn couldn’t see her the shadows were too thick and the beams to wide.

            “Maybe she is a good climber!” Bran couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. He hadn’t even known it was possible to get up there.

            “No climbing, I can see you thinking about it!” Catelyn said again and he drooped.

            Herian prowled along the rafters, she hated being spotted watching was no fun when they knew she was there! She resolved to go hang out above the kitchens, there was usually something good to eat. It was a fun game to make things disappear from the tables. Telekinesis magic for the win.

 

* * *

 

 

            Bran and Arya were climbing the First Keep again. As Catelyn walked through one of the many bridges. “Get down from there! Before you fall!”

            Bran and Arya looked to each other and kept climbing with giggles. They wanted to reach the gargoyles today.

            Having heard the shouts of the lady of Winterfell. Ron and Jon raced over from the training yard. Ned appeared a moment later out of the guard house. Catelyn stormed through the graves surrounding the first keep. “Get down now!”

            “We’re fine mother!” Bran called. “It’s not even cold!

            “I’m going to get there first!” Arya found a few new hand holds and pulled herself up.

            “Can either of you get them down?” Cat asked the two boys.

            “Not if they don’t let us.” Rob said.

            Ned had made his way down to the yard, the headstones would surely crack opon their heads if they fell. “Arya, Bran come down please.” He called up to them.

            Arya sped her climbing trying to beat her little brother who was the better climber. A small outcropping of rock gave out under her fingers as she push off of it.

            The Starks watched in horror as she started to fall. A burst of movement shattered a thinly veiled illusion as a grey streak snatched Arya from out of the air, curling around her as they plummeted to the ground. A foot caught on a headstone and Herian rolled with the impact, they tumbled head over heels and the Dunmers back hit the grey wall of the First Keep with a dull thud. Pain jarred her senses and she lost the wolf traits she had been practicing with. Reverting back to normal as Catelyn and Ned raced over to her the two eldest children hot on their heels.

            “Arya!” Catelyn yelled coming to a skidding halt kneeling grabbing at Herian’s legs as she was still curled around the nine year old.

            Ned stopped Catelyn with a hand on her shoulder. “Give her a moment, that was quite the tumble.”

            Herian’s brain was still indeed resetting from the impact with the wall. Slowly she lowered her legs revealing a tiny ball of Arya pressed tight to her chest. She let her go instead taking a moment to feel around the back of her head. “Oww.”

            Catelyn snatched Arya from Herian’s lap and checked her over, touching all her limbs.

            “Stop it mother I’m fine!” Arya battered her moms hands away.

            “How did you do that?!” Rob asked, he could see her grey feet, hands and chin.

            Herian healed the back of her head with a flew blue sparks from her fingers. She grabbed the wall pulling herself up, Ned moved to help her. Holding her by her lower rib cage and letting her lean on him rather then the cold stone. “Harimand and I would climb all over the place, in cities or up the sides of mountains. I learned how to fall at a young age.”

            “I don’t get it you fell, but nothings broken!” Bran dropped down beside them having made a quick descent. He poked her legs and looked her up and down.

            “Uhh.” Herian shied away and closer to Ned. “You just must, uhh gosh I hate your language. Roll with it when you hit the ground, so the uhh force doesn’t shatter your legs just gets moved. When I roll right I can come out of it running.” She jumped when Bran poked her behind a knee. “Plus my bones are better then yours, it takes a lot more to break me.” The small Dunmer slid under Ned’s arm and put him between her and Bran.

            Bran circled around his father. “Will you show me how to do that?!”

            Herian moved in time keeping Eddard between them. “I don’t think your mother would like that.”

            “You will most certainly not be climbing anymore!” Catelyn stood still holding Arya.

            Arya wiggled free and joined Bran in chasing Herian around Ned. “I wanna learn too!”

            Herian was starting to panic, she had no idea what to do with the two children chasing her. Ned was chuckling. “I think they should learn Cat, if only so if they make a mistake they will have better odds of surviving.”

            “Yeah!” Bran and Arya jumped having split up to trap Herian between them.

            “Iep!” Herian leapt straight up into the air as the two Stark children collided. She landed right on Ned’s shoulder and perched like a big mountain cat.

            Eddard looked over to her and raised a brow, trying to laugh to hard for her sake. “You are very light.”

            Herian had her shoulders up like a wolf as she stared down at the two kids. “They are evil.” Somewhere along the line, she had shifted her feet and claws back over to a wolf complete with tail. Rickon who had come with Sansa holding her hand had sneaked up behind Ned. The grey gold tail was hypnotic to the toddler. He reached up and pulled on it.

            Herian yelped with a cat like yowl and vanished from Neds shoulder to the wall, the sound of crumbling stone was the only hint she had cracked the stone to make a new hand hold. “They keep multiplying!” Her tail was tucked up between her legs.

            At that Jon and Ned were laughing so hard they had to hold their chests. Arya and Bran were giggling having decided they liked Herian. Catelyn was to busy staring at the clearly not human traits. Sansa beside her did the same while it was Robb who walked over as Herian swung her body about so she was perched against the wall her toes digging into it as she used her hand as an anchor.

            “Yeah they are evil, maybe you could show of us how to roll like that. It was cool see and Arya is totally okay. If you come down I will protect you from my siblings.” Robb could hear the humming rumble coming from her throat.

            “No, no lessons! There will be no more climbing at all.” Catelyn looked to her husband but by the smile on his face knew she would get no help there.

            “Would just low wall work? Something close enough to the ground no one would get hurt?” Robb asked.

            “Yes~.” Herian did not like how this was going. She looked to the two evil ones… gosh they had such cute faces.

            “See mother we can learn without running the risk of any injury.” Robb said turning to his mother.

            Eddard watch as Herian silently turned and climbed up the wall. Everyone else was to busy looking hopefully up at Catelyn. He pressed a hand to his lips as she vanished into the balcony. The Northman could imagine the games his children would come up with trying to find her till she agreed to teach them.

            “Alright.” Catelyn said she looked up to give Herian a stern talking too but the elf was gone. “Where did she go?” She was not at all used to people leaving her presence before she dismissed them.

            “To find a new place to hide I think.” Ned said smiling to his children. “Come I am sure you will get another chance. Now do be more careful when you climb, next time there might not be anyone to catch you.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Catelyn was knitting in her salor with Sansa and Arya when Ned came in. The warm room was very ornate tapestries hung upon the walls thick carpets. Even the furniture was in warm red woods brought all the way from the south. Ned had tried to make the room homely for Catelyn. “How are the ladies of my house today?” He picked a large plush chair to sit in.

            “Bran and I looked for Herian all morning! We couldn’t find her anywhere! It’s like she can go invisible!” Arya huffed putting her embroidery down in her lap.

            “Well I do think you and Bran chasing her did frighten her. I have barely seen her as well and she does seem to have retreated. May I see your embroidery?” Ned asked.

            Arya hopped off her chair and crawled into her dads lap and showed him the pillow. It had simple vines on it but they were done in a dark crimson red in stunning contrast to the gold pillow. Ned thought it looked very good for Arya, though he didn’t understand the red. “Why have you made the vines red?”

            “It’s the colour of Herians eyes. I though if I made her a gift, maybe she’d run a little less. I went to her room the other day and it was very grey so a little bit of colour may cheer her up.” Arya explained.

            “Well I think you are doing a great job on it.” Ned hugged Arya.

            While she beamed so happy with the praise on her needle work, Catelyn spoke up. “Arya dear people don’t have red eyes.”

            “Herian does! I saw them when she caught me. They are red like… like blood with fire shone on it, with just a little bit of purple in the iris. They don’t have any white like ours. I think they are pretty.” She paused and hummed. “I think I even saw them go cat shaped once.”

            “People don’t have cat eyes Arya.” Sansa said chastising her little sister.

            “Well Herian’s not people is she Sansa?” Arya snarked right back. “She’s something else, something different then people.”

            “I really wish you would leave her be Arya. We don’t know anything about her and I find her very unsettling.” Catelyn said.

            “And we never will if we don’t try.” Ned countered his wife before saying to Arya. “Keep up the good work, I am sure she will appreciate the gesture. You and Bran might also want to try gifts of food, the cooks keep saying that various meat and pastry items keep vanishing from right out from under them. I get the feeling Herian could give you, Bran and Rickon a run for your crowns when it comes to getting food out of the kitchens before it’s dinner time.”

            “Ned please don’t encourage them.” Cat said finally setting her needles down.

            “Herian is clearly afraid of them Cat, I would be in her shoes. Food is a common point among all people and we would be foolish not to try and reach out to her. As it is I think she’s respond better to the children then if you or I asked her to come out of hiding.”

            Catelyn had no rebuke for her husband, he was named the Quiet Wolf after all. He was in a much better position to understand someone who wished to hide then she was.

 

* * *

 

 

            Arya and Bran hid in the eve to Herian’s room, Arya tapped on the heavy door then carefully pushed it open. They peered inside but didn’t see her. Ayra had her now finished pillow ready and Bran had a big plate of raspberry tarts. The room that Ned had put her in was a small one and on the cold side. The bed looked slept in but the only thing of Herian’s they saw was her box. Wisely they left it alone, Arya put the pillow on the bed and Bran put the plate of tarts on the beside table.

            As quietly as they had come, they slipped out. Herian waited till the door clicked shut before stepping out of the closet. She silently walked over to the bed and picked up a tart. The Dunmer gave it a sniff before taking a nibble out of it. It was very sweet and yummy; she didn’t eat sweet things as a general rule. So many years of living on the road made them rather hard to come by. She perched on the edge of the bed slowly eating the tarts while petting over the pillow with the other hand. She hadn’t done her days exploring yet. Herian turned her attention to the last two tarts and packaged them up in a piece of parchment.

            She veiled herself from sight, before picking her way through the castle. By now the red head had found many passages and even more short cuts. Sneaking into Bran and Arya’s room was easy. Beside each bed she put one of the tarts. After all good food was for sharing. A quick glance around found for her a wardrobe. A quick jump later found herself comfortably waiting top it. Herian closed her red eyes and dozed.

            Several hours later the door clicked open and Arya and Bran came in. “Tarts!” Bran raced over to his tart and after studying it a moment asked. “Hey aren’t these the tarts we gave Herian?”

            Arya studied her tart as well before taking a big bite. “I think so, I guess this means she found them.”

            “I wonder why she brought us some. Do you think she ate the other ones, they were all gone from her room when we checked it.” Bran said eating his tart.

            “I think she did, maybe this is just her way of saying thank you?” Arya finished her tart and dusted off her hands.

            “I hope she turns up soon.” Bran pouted his tart all gone now too. Though he was sadder that Herian hadn’t decided to show herself after their gifts. A soft thump had them both looking over to the dresser.

            Herian had let her magic drop, with all the time that had passed she was getting a much better handle on the language. Both Bran and Arya were small compared to her so like a cat she kept low. “Hi.” She softly said.

            Their eyes widened before they both grinned. Arya’s first instinct was to rush over but with how easy to seemed to be to overwhelm her. She had a better plan instead; she took Bran’s hand and they walked over. The rug was soft under them as they sat down in front of her. Herian slowly sat as well crossing her legs. Bran took that as a good sign. “So where have you been?”

            “I followed you one day and found a secret passage. I’ve been mapping out Winterfell finding other secrets.” Herian wove her fingers together. “Thank you for the tarts and pillow, they were good and the pillow is pretty.”

            Both children grinned. “So what have you found? Can you show us?” Arya asked.

            Herian pursed her lips. “Lots of it is hard to get too, I don’t think it would be a good idea. You don’t have any claws to help you climb.”

            They pouted but then Bran asked. “Just what are you? Some red eyed cat person?”

            The Dunmer laughed. “No, I am a Dunmer but my father as a Khajiit. They are very like cats but taller then your father and they stand like you or I. So I guess I am a little catty.” Her gestured a small amount between her fingers.

            “Cool! It would be so cool to have claws.” Arya really liked the idea.

            “It is fun.” Herian said, think that for now it would be best to avoid tales of werewolves.

            “So where are you from? Beyond the Narrow Sea or the Wall?” Bran asked.

            “No I’m from a different world altogether. I came to yours by accident, it is very hard to explain.” The Dunmer sighed, she was pretty sure that this language didn’t even have words that hers did.

            “Aww, can you go home?”

            “Not easily and your father saved my life. I owe him mine, so even if I could leave I won’t till I’ve returned the favour.” Herian said.

            “You remind me of father, he’d do the same thing if he owed his life to someone.” Bran said, then frowned. “How about we play a game? We ask you one question, then you get to ask one.”

            When Ned checked in on them many hours later for bedtime. He found all three with a tray of tarts, honeyed milk still playing their game. Just this once he decided it would be best to not enforce the bedtime rule. Then next morning it seemed he had made the right decision when Herian came out to training yard.

 

* * *

 

            “Come on Jon! High guard on your left.” Herian circled her prey, wooden training sword in hand.

            “Sorry.” Jon uttered and turn to face her again, raising his hand-and-a-half blade.

            “And turn with me, not after me.” The elf shot forward and lightly wrapped him on his thigh with the flat of her blade. “Bend your knees more. Fluidity of motion is the key, standing still or rocking back and forth will get you killed.”

            Jon bent his knees lower and struck out with his blade. Herian casually deflected the blade, “Better.” she commented and tucked her left hand into the small of her back, then lashed out with two over handed strikes.

            Jon blocked the first as it came for his head but the second caught him in his armpit. “Oww.”

            “Speed over strength Jon.” The elf stated calmly.

            Bran and Rob watched over to the side and unknown to the combatants, Ned watched from a porch. He was happy that she finally decided to show herself, it seemed giving her the space was the right call. One day he would ask where she had gone for he was confident she had remained in Winterfell. She wore her armour with the additional layers of grey cloth to hide how outlandish it looked. He wondered at why she chose to show herself to train Jon of all people but she mentioned being a sword master, so he was inclined to see what she knew. Watching her pick Jon out had been interesting as was the little conversation when she told Jon that she was going to teach him.

            With a growl, Jon charged out forward swinging high. Herian swept her blade behind her back, ducked the blow and stuck her foot out. Jon tripped and landed in the mud and hay.

            The elf chuckled, “Focused speed, I should say.” she picked him up but the back of the shirt and dusted him off. “Anger has no place on the battlefield, it will get you killed over you just being slow.” Herian said with a grin, stepping away she tapped her chin with a metal finger. “We really do need to work on your stance.” Glancing around and saying. “Horse stance.”

            Jon fell into a horse stance, knees bent slightly. Herian was pleased to see some terminology was universal.

            Herian picked up a rock and dusted it off, then to everyone's amazement, put it on his head and forced him down till his legs were at a ninety degree angle. “Much better,” She purred. “arms up.” Herian put hers out so they were level with her shoulders and touched her thumbs to her forefingers. “There you go.”

            “Ow.” Jon said again, copying her stance.

            “Hey, I'm not making you punch water, be grateful.” She picked up their blades and put them on the back from whence they came.

            “Why would you punch water?” Jon asked trying not to wobble.

            “Control mostly, strength as well and it is easier on the bones then punching wood. That comes after.” she said with a smirk.

            “You punch wood?” Jons' stone wobbled.

            “No I punch through stone.”

            Again the youth could hear the elf’s smile, even if the helm she wore masked it.

            “Ah, no slouching!” The elf circled the boy and pressed a finger between his shoulder blades. “Pretend you have to hold another stone here.”

            “What does this accomplish?” Robb asked boldly.

            “It builds strength throughout the body, power comes from the core and legs. Arms are just the catalyst, I can spring into action like I do because my father would make me do what I have done to Jon.” She paused and turned to the questioning youth. “For hours on end.”

            The stone fell from Jons' head, Herian chuckled. “That's enough for now, you are new so I will be kind. But do it again before bed and stretch before you sleep.”

            “I will.” Jon straightened himself out and said. “You're turn Bran.”

            Herian leaned against the wall to watch Jon and his brother instruct their younger sibling. Bran stood uneasy with a quiver around his hips and a bow in his hand, looking rather dejected.

            “Come on.” Jon bent and clapped him on the shoulder. “Father's watching.” The pair turned slightly to look up at Ned on his porch. “And your mother.”

            Ned nodded and smiled down at the two boys.

            Herians' cheeks flushed, she hadn't noticed him come out, cursing herself at that. She was being a terribly bodyguard, that said he was safe here and didn't need her services yet. She had worked that out quickly and it was one of the reasons she had let her more antisocial habits free. Talking with Arya and Bran had helped, alone they were much easier for her to adapt too. Rather then their whole very large family at once. The dark elf watched as all four of Brans arrows went wide and the last few clear over the target, with a sign she pulled herself from the wall and spoke softly, though all could hear.

            She knelt beside the boy. “You're overcompensating. Draw.”

            Bran did, she moved to kneel behind him. Gently she lowered his elbow so it his arm was straight rather then up high, looked over the shaft with him. “The arrow wants to find the target, look where you want it to go, forget about the wind and weight of it.”

            Bran lowered the bow a few degrees, “There you go.” the elf said quietly. “Now release.”

            The arrow sung forth and hit the under corner of the white cloth on the target. Everyone chuckled, but he had hit the target, better then all the other shots.

            “Now which one of you was a marksmen at seven?” Ned called out with a booming voice, then spoke softly. “Keep practising Bran, go on.”

            With a slight boost to his confidence, the elf stepped away and decided it was best not to mention that she had been a marksmen at seven.

            “Don't think to much Bran.” Jon said leaning down.

            “Relax your bow arm.” Robb said.

            Just before the youth went to fire, another arrow struck the centre of the target. Everyone’s' gaze snapped around to find Arya with a grin of her face and a bow in her hand. She did a little curtsy and Bran dropped his bow to chase his sister.

            “Run faster!” Robb said laughing with his brother.

            Herian smiled behind her mask, picked up the bow and put it in the barrel.

            “Lord Stark.”  Rodrik Cassel called from behind the Stark and his wife. They turned to him smiling. “The guardsmen just rode in from the hills, they've captured a deserter from the Nights watch.”

            The smiles faded from the Lord and Ladies face, Ned signed and nodded to Thoen. “Get the lads to settle their horses.” The brunette departed.

            “Do you have too?” Lady Stark asked sadly.

            “He swore an oath Cat.” Ned said grimly.

            “The law is the law my lady.” Rodrik said.

            Catelyn looked away from the two men.

            “Tell Bran he is coming too.” Ned said and Rodrik also left.

            That turned the Lady’s' head. “Ned.” she said sharply. “Seven is too young to see such things.”

            “He won't be a boy forever.” Ned said lowly, and gazed at his wife's face, the 'no' on it was clear on it. “And winter is coming.” He turned and walked away.

            Herian watched as Jon and Robb picked up the arrows, Jon looked up at his Lady and all Herian could see on her face was pure loathing. Jon quickly looked away and resumed his task. Herian glared up at the lady, Catelyn never seemed to show Jon any kindness and it grated her nerves. He was kind boy and deserved a mother figure that cared about him.

            Rodrik came out and collected them for the ride to the block. When they arrived at the blood stained piece of wood, Herian placed herself behind her Thane off to the right. Gave him plenty of room for that magnificent sword.

            The deserter was walked up by two guards to stand before Ned. Herian could hear him muttering over and over. “Saw white walkers, White Walkers.” And she could hear his heart, he wasn't lying. The elf pursed her lips, she hadn't brought up that she could serve as a lie detector yet. She could speak up, maybe spar the man his life, but she couldn't want to surprise Ned before his family and troops; and who would believe her? It was only really Ned and Jon, who knew what she was. Herian bit her lip and kept her trap shut.

            “I know I broke my oath.” The deserter said. Ned’s expression was passive and did not change. “I know I am a deserter, I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them.” The deserters head shook slightly. “I saw what I saw, I saw White Walkers. People need to know, and get word to my family, tell them I am coward, tell them I'm sorry.”

            Ned looked away for a second then nodded at the guards, the deserter was forced to his knees. Theon offered Ned Ice, the massive blade came smoothly form its sheath. Ned turned it and planted the end in the ground and leaned slightly on it; both hands on the pommel, then said in his gravelly voice.

            “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the first of his name. King of the Andals and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm. I Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Sentence you to die.” He made a small step to the side and readied  his strike and swung all in one smooth movement.

            Herian couldn't help but marvel at the skill and strength that the action required with such a large sword.

            Ned walked down to speak to Bran who had turned to his horse, Herian followed with ghost like silence.

            Ned spoke softly to his son. “Do you understand why I did it?”

            “Jon said he was a deserter.” Bran said look briefly at his father then back to his horse.

            “But do you understand why I had to kill him?” Ned asked.

            “Our way is the old way.” Bran worked on his horse reins after look up at his father again.

            Ned nodded slightly and said grimly. “The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword.”

            “Was it true that he saw the White Walkers.” Bran asked turning fully to his father.

            Herian bit her lip again.

            Ned sighed and said. “The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years.”

            “So he was lying.” Bran said quietly.

            “A mad man sees what he sees.” Ned said and turned away as Bran turned from his father.

            Shortly there after the party returned to Winterfell.

***

 

            Herian followed Ned back to Winterfell and when Ned excused himself from the walls of Winterfell to the nearby forest, Herian again followed, with a little bit of magic to add to her stealth. Ned drew Ice and sat beneath a white tree with red petals, Herian took up a position of the opposite side, hidden from view. For many long minutes they sat unaware of the other, Herian relaxed to the sound of a whetstone and then a cloth over Ice.

            When Lady Stark came into the glade, determined in her walk, Herian renewed her spells of concealment. “All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here.” Lady Stark said her voice clouded with grief.

            Herian heard Ned pause in his attention to the blade. “You have five Northern children, you're not an outsider.”

             “I wonder if the Old Gods agree.” The Lady's voice calmed.

            “Its your Gods with all the rules.” Ned said smiling and resuming cleaning his blade. After a moment Ned looked up at his wife and the smile faded.

            The Lady brought her hands up holding a scrap of parchment to her chest. “I am so sorry my love.”

            “Tell me.” Neds voice lost some of its usual composer.

            “There was a raven from Kings Landing,” Catelyn paused. “Jon Arryn is dead. A fever took him.”

            Ned’s face fell and his gaze slowly fell to the pool at his feet.

            “I know he was like a father to you,” Lady Stark said.

            “Your sister the boy?” Ned asked.

            “They both have their health, Gods be good.” She moved to sit on a stump beside Ned and listened to the bird song for a minute. “The raven brought more news, the King rides for Winterfell. With the Queen and all the rest of them.”

            “If he is coming this far north.” Ned spoke in his gravelly voice. “There is only one thing he is after.”

            “You can always say no Ned.” Cat said almost desperately.

            He looked away and she departed.

            “Well, that sounded quite unpleasant.”

            Underneath the sharp, green leaves, a voice called out, Ned did not lift his hand. Cloth in hand, the Stark continued to clean his impressive blade. Regardless of steel, in shape, age, or name, every blade needed to be maintained in some form. Made for a grand way to clear one’s mind too.      

            As he drew the cloth against one side of the weapon, Ned fought the urge to chuckle. “You know.” He mused to no one in particular, “For most, I would be quite irritated to find someone spying on the private discussions of my family. Regardless of how grave they may be.”

            Just out of view of the Lord, a certain elf smiled to herself. “And, for that few some that are not ‘most’?”

            The Stark leaned back against the tall powerful trunk. In his lap, the man lowered the blade and did not hold back the amusement. Ned chuckled and he was certain he wasn’t the only one. “I would commend them. For managing to keep themselves hidden for so long. Course, that would not save them if they bared a blade against my neck, which is for sure.”

            Herian smirked. “I believe claws would be more appropriate, in my case at the least.”

            “Indeed.” Ned admitted. “Though if you don’t mind, I’d much rather speak to someone face to face, instead of hidden in the shadows. Makes things a bit more, personal if I were to say.”

            A high laugh came as a response. “Very well.”

            Whilst he looked on, a familiar figure appeared from out of nowhere. No sounds, no creaks. Even the grass and dirt made not a sound to her arrival. In a way, Ned could have compared it to a ghost appearing out of the mist, as if leaping out of another world in general.

            Of course, that felt a bit too real when it came to his new charge amongst House Stark.

            Never the less, the Stark gazed at the woman wide eyes and a slight gape to his mouth. If Ice had not already been laid against his lap, the massive sword would have fallen to the ground in a clatter. All the while, the newest addition of House Stark stepped forward.

            Her smirk more fitting of a fox than a wolf, Herian appeared out of the air itself and stepped out en-front of the massive man without a whisper of her arrival. Not even the grass reacted to her footsteps, a useful skill she had spent more moons and suns on then she cared to admit. In all the glory of her Daedric armour, she pulled her helm off for the man. Still, the expression on her Thane’s face made it all the more worth it.

            “As you asked, I have appeared.” She spoke while bowing in a great flurrish, one arm out holding her helm the other hand open her chest. While one foot was placed back. She didn’t think he’d pick up on a Nilfgaardian bow but hey it was fun to do. “Is there anything else, you require?”

            The Stark admired her, the move came to fluidly for her for him to ignore. A bit too naturally for him to just pass it off. Just what was she all trained as? “Well, to know how long you have been here would be nice. I was certain of our privacy for a time.”

            “One does not reveal her secrets so easily.” Herian smirk. “But, I would describe it as, long enough.”

            Ned raised a brow. “Enough?”

            “Long enough to hear of a poor sir’s passing. I may not have known him, but I would like to give you my condolences. I am sure he was a proper man for you to had known him, my Thane.”

            Such words caused the Stark’s head to fall. Ned glanced down at his sword and let out a sigh. Whilst he had been stern with his wife, it was still a blow to his heart. He had known the man and his passing meant more than a simple political matter.

            “Aye, he was. Jon was a strong man, a noble lord, quite the Hand to the King and he meant much to me. To hear of his passing.” Ned trailed off. A sadden gazed struck the Lord. “It hurts, more than any sword could have.”

            “Yes.” The elf mused. “And to be poisoned. That is not how such a soul should pass on.”

            Suddenly, Ned’s head snapped up so quickly that his neck might have snapped. His eyes bored into the elf’s forehead like two sharp daggers. The leather covered gloves gripped Ice’s hilt tightly. The mere groans the material made assured a clean decapitation with one shear swing of the man’s arm.

            Whilst Herian looked on, her Thane pushed himself off the ground and stared directly into her eyes. The stare he held was boiling, like searing iron, promising a horrid outcome if one were very poor with their choice of words.

            One execution a day was enough, but an angered Stark would not object to another.

            “What was that?” He asked, almost hissing. “What do you say?”

            In front of the lone tree, the very air became under assault by a heavy pressure. Ned’s glare pressed down upon everyone with a sharp press. Even the elf, whilst looking into the man’s eyes could feel a shiver creep up her spine. It didn't help that he was over a foot taller then her, her hand twitched. It was almost like a knife of silver had been pressed against the bottom of her neck. However he did not scare her, he had already shown to be a kind and rational man. “It’s as I said. Whilst I’m sure an illness could have claimed the lord’s life, it did not sound like the case to me. The symptoms, the way it was described. If I were to guess, then poison might have been involved, my Thane. Fevers do not spare loved ones.”

            Ned narrowed his gaze. His gloves did not ease up on his blade.

            “And you are sure of this?” He enquired.

            At that, the elf shook her head. “Without examining the body in person, I can only speculate. Though with my experiences in such things, I know many kinds of poisons and what they may do. Some have caused blood to gush out of a man’s eyes, to turn him crazed within an hour. Others have dropped men dead in the span of a few seconds, whilst some have blinded several for the rest of their lives.”

            Herian sighed. “But the illusion of illness, only to result in death within a day's time. Is much harder to pin down.”

            Meeting her Thane’s gaze, the elf Lycan let out a sigh, “If you require more proof, then I could brew you some of these vile drinks to demonstrate what could result from drinking them. Would require a few weeds and flowers, but it’s something I’m sure can be done rather simply. Especially the odourless type. Easy to slip into a drink or soap. Though I would not recommend the later, to easy for another to use.”

            For several seconds, there was silence. The towering Stark remained still, hand remained clamped around his sword, yet his expression refused to even twitch. The man said nothing, did nothing; he even struggled to breath. Outwardly the Lord looked stoic, solid; like the walls that made up his home, but inwardly? There was chaos, questions, concerns, doubts. There were so much that even the Stark himself was unsure where to start. After a moment, his grip loosened. "That," He sighed. "Will not be necessary."

            Herian looked him up and down, then slowly reached out to grip her Thane's shoulder. “If you do go south, allow me to protect you. I have a few more things to tell you, but have not found a time to till now.” She winced. “And a favour to ask of you.”

            Underneath the massive tree, Ned flinched the moment he felt the hand on his shoulder. He winced at the sensation, still unsure of many things. Far too many things. It was uncertainty, not a good thing to have in one of his position. Settling his nerves, the tall Stark glanced at the woman in front of him. She looked very concerned, and strangely, he could not find the heart to blame her for it. Ned frowned. "What, favour would that be?"

            Herian released his shoulder when he flinched and bit her lip then said tightly. “Your son, Jon. I would like to offer him an apprenticeship, he has many of the qualities a Ranger like myself looks for in a potential student. I have not yet ask him if he is interested, I felt it would be best to ask you first. He holds this romanticized version of the Wall in his head, I've been there enough to know he would be miserable. Your son cares deeply for those around him, the Wall would freeze that part of him.” The elf stepped away and sat on the ground by the pool; and gazed into it, a breeze tickled wove through them, her hair danced like leaping flames.

            "You believe Jon will not be up to the task that the Wall may present to him?" Ned mused.

            Whilst the elf gazed at the pool, the Stark walked up next to her and stood there, a mere foot beside her flowing locks. He spared a glance at the pool and yet his attention came focused on the castle in the distance.          "I would like to say I know my son, just as I do any of my other seed. But, the Wall is as you say. It is harsh, and all might not be put for what it presents."

            Images of a man came to Ned's mind. The deserter, the man who had abandoned his duty at the wall. The mad ramblings of a man who could not handle such a duty. Ned glanced down at the woman at his side. "Are you sure you can make certain that the Wall will not rob me of one of my own?"

            “As my apprentice he would stay with me, I did not say he could not handle the Wall. I said it would not suit him. You do know you children better then I, but considering I am impossible to lie too. I like to think I can catch on quickly, I would teach him all that I know. Maybe someday if it can be done, take him to visit my homeland.” Herian sighed and dug a hand into the ground. “And I smell magic beyond the wall, I have seen your Nights Watch. Forgive me my Thane but it is pitiful, if we go south and you permit me to apprentice Jon. At least when I am through with him,” she trained off. “I know not how to phrase what I wish to say. But I worry for the coming Winter, and I worry that allowing Jon to go to the Wall will be his death.”

            "One should always worry, for Winter is coming." Ned noted. A moment of silence passed, slowly and with a tense feeling in the air. Ned closed his eyes and let a long, drawn out sigh escape his throat. He believed in his kin, as did many others, but Jon, the boy was something more than Stark.

            He sighed. "If you are so certain of it, then I will allow it, if Jon accepts the offer."

            Herian bowed her head. “Thank you Thane. You will not regret this.” She looked up at him. “My other question is what would you have me do when the King arrives?”  
            With one matter done, Ned scratched his chin with thought.

            "Hmm. With the King's arrival, the matter of your presence is not something I would like questioned. These are grave times, and with Sir Jon's passing, we must be wise."

            "So for the moment, I would like you to make yourself scarce. Do not vacant the area, if the King does not know you are there, then that is all that matters. And something tells me you’re rather talented at hiding."

            The Dunmer blushed bright and Ned found he liked the additional colour in her cheeks. “I did not mind it you know. I understand wanting to learn a new place before it learns you.”

            “Thank you. You’ve been very kind to me. I will hide, I have found many ways around this castle and will keep close. With all the new people, I would not be comfortable leaving you unattended. I swore to protect you and I shall, my own comfort comes second.” Herian flicked the dirt off her gauntlets while watching his reflection in the pool.

            “I believe in letting a person find their footing.” Ned said as he did much the same thing, watching without being obvious about it.

            “Thank you again.” She rose up and smiled at him. “I will stay out of sight till you say otherwise.” The elf shrugged. “Keep Jon company, his horse stance is still terrible.” She stuck her tongue out momentarily.

            That got Ned to smile before he sighed, the Stark sheathed his sword and shook his head. With all the matters going on, the man was having a hard time figuring out when to deal with things. Though the expression his elf 'friend' had on was almost making the man regret his decision already. Unfortunately, by the look in her eyes, that ship might have already sailed.

            Herian studied him for a moment and sighed. “Sit a while longer my Thane, the stress is practically oozing off of you. If it eases your mind, come by the yard sometime. I'll be happy to give a demonstration. Your Lady can handle the Keep for a while longer and knows what to do to prepare for your King.” She gestured to the log he had been sitting on. “You are good to no one distracted and I know I confuse you. I will leave if it helps.”

            Ned frowned, though he entertained the concept, there was much he had to do. Preparations for the King's arrival; dealing with his forefather's demise, the matter of his son's newly settled upon apprenticeship. It was rather a lot to deal with at the moment, of course that just made the stress all the heavier in some ways. After a moment, Ned glanced at the log with a frown, "No, leaving is not necessary. Its as you've said, I just have a lot on my mind as it were."

            “Then sit, and I will keep you company.” She glanced up at the Old Gods tree. “I like this place, it reminds me of home.” The elf sat back on the ground, removed the weapons strapped to her back, flopped down into the moss and closed her eyes. “There is a peace in this grove that I can't put my finger on, magic in the air. However slight.” Herian sighed heavily with a smile.

            Amidst rubbing his forehead, Ned spared a glance at the elf. "You are quite adept at sensing that in which we cannot comprehend, aren't you?” It made the Stark wonder how she would be like if taken up to the very peak of the Wall. Ned himself had only seen such a peak, but even then he had felt something. A strange foreboding nature, a feeling he had felt at his core. The urge to run, to escape. To get as far away as physically possible, whatever he had felt, it was daunting, that was for certain. Made the man shiver to even consider it. Be that as it may, Ned glanced down at the log with an uncertain glance. He had not finished in cleaning his weapon, and sitting whilst sharpening Ice was better than standing, that was for sure.

            Herian chuckled. “Oh you can comprehend it.” She raised a hand and snapped her fingers. A small orange flame, sprung up between them. “You've just lost touch with it, I can feel it, though not very well. It is in all of your bloodline however small. Like an ember that needs fuel and a soft wind to raise to a blaze.” She spread her fingers and made a stroking motion with them. The fire danced in slow circles around her hand. “Magic is a part of all of us, at home our souls absorb the power from Mundas, the outer realm and convert into magic that we all wield. The magic here is in the land and it has been sleeping for thousands of years, but now it stirs bit by bit. You will see more and more, till you are forced to believe. It has already started, that deserter from the wall was telling the truth, I listened to his heart. Sit my Thane, before you fall.”

            Falling, was quite an accurate description to what Ned felt now. The explanation, like many of Herian's own, were detailed and yet confusing all at the same time. Yet, with the flaming flicking just a foot or two before him, the Stark could not find the words to rebut her statements and claims. It was all there, staring him dead in the face. So, his response to such words and requests?

            "Yes, Well."

            He sat, after lightly maneuvering his sword's sheath to the side, along with his attire, Ned sat down next to the young elf and took a deep breath. Anything that could be done to settle his nerves after such a show. Talk of poison, appearing out of nowhere, and now the ability to spring fire out from thin air? At this rate, Ned was not sure if he would learn more about the world around him, or die first. Though by the sound of his heart, the latter seemed far more likely.

            The flame disappeared and Herian swiftly sat up, pulled off a gauntlet and very softly, touched Neds cheek, the touch lasted for only a second and a soft green wreath of energy surrounded him and sank into his body.

            Slowly she laid back down and quietly said. “It is called Sanctuary.”

            "I-what?" Ned mumbled.

            Such complicated wordplay was the best the Stark could come up with. With the increasingly present methods the elf could find ways to confuse to man, this most recent had nearly pushed his mind over the edge. Or least it would have if not for the soothing effects flowing through his body.

            It felt like a rushing river, cool, calm, like a sea of warmth just washing away all the pressures that had been plaguing the man since the arrival of the news earlier that day.

            Honestly, Ned felt bewildered and if not for the soothing effect of such a spell, he would have shoved Ice into the woman's face.

            She was lucky there, that was for certain “If it helps, sometimes warriors use to help calm and centre themselves before battle. You sounded like you needed it. I'm sorry to have distressed you so much.” The elf kept her voice soothing and smooth.

            "It is, alright." Ned sighed, "It wasn't you, mostly. There have just been a large sum of things bothering me as of late. With all that you've told me about the fate of my friend, your concern over Jon, and now this."

            He chuckled, "I was just more unprepared, then I thought I would have been."

            “Happens to the best of us Ned.” Herian smiled and allowed herself to relax and dose off at the sound of him tending his blade.


	3. King and Hand

    Herian watched the preparations for the King from the south. Robert, she recalled his name was. Eddard had groused at length about working out how they were going to feed so many people. Needless to say she had gathered what the King was doing to be rude, putting a man out like this. It had even snowed today, Herian could it odd as people said it was summer still. What strange climate, Kaer Morhen was in the highlands and even it didn’t get summer snows. The Dunmer was currently perched on a tower merlon.

    “How do you get around so easily.” Bran pulled himself up beside her. “Aren’t you cold?”

    Herian barely remembered that her feet were bare. She had been practicing maintaining partial transformations. She felt it would let her maintain the edge of being a lycanthrope without giving herself away completely. “Na, my blood keeps me warm. I should be asking you that.”

    “I’m a Stark we don’t get cold.” Bran sat on another merlon beside her.

    “Says the one wearing wool.” Herian said in jest.

    “You could always ask Nan to make you some more clothes, maybe some sort of sock sleeve things for your feet.”

    “I am quite fine, if the eventuality I get cold I do have armour to wear. It is just heavy and not any good for climbing. As it is I stay far enough away from anyone who may seem me that I am not worried bout them noticing any of my traits.” She shifted crossing her legs. “How are you today?”

    “Luwin made me recite all the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms. Arya ran better then I did.” Bran huffed, the level to which he got along with his closet in age sister varied.

    “Well you will not make a fool of yourself when the King comes to visit. Book studies are just as important as more hands on learning.”

    “You seem to have fun teaching Jon. I think he enjoys it too no matter how much he grumbles about it.” Bran said swinging his feet.

    “Jon is very quick and that makes him enjoyable to teach. And I find teaching him reminds me about how I should behave.” Her eyes fell to all the little people below them. Yes, taking Jon on had been a wise choice, he was so young and good. To be good like him was a reminder that she knew she needed.

    “Why do you say it like that?” Bran asked.

    Herian looked over to him, he could see the sadness in her eyes. “I’ve not been a very good person at times. I… I lost my mother once and fell into a rut that it took coming to your world to shake me out of. Jon reminds me of my duty and the person I should be, rather then the one I became. Please don’t speak a word of this to anyone. It is something that I can manage on my own, my I am aware of my faults.”

    “I won’t say anything, I don’t know what I would do if I lost my mother.” Bran said. “What do you see when you look down there?”

    “On good days people, doing their jobs, living their lives. On bad days I am reminded of the days where I would hunt bandits and murder whole castles of people.”

    “You can do that?”

The awe in Bran’s voice made Herian feel sick. She spoke very softly. “I used to find it fun. To rip, tear and devour. It’s so easy not to see them as people anymore when you learn to see them as bandits.” She shook her head. “That’s one reason I like to watch on bad days, to remind myself that people are just people. It helps me to keep my baser urges in check.”

“So being in Winterfell has been good for you?” Bran thought he should be scared of her, but she just sounded so sad. It was hard to be afraid of her.

    “Yeah, it’s helped.” Herian finally looked over. “You want to practice falling don’t you?”

    “I had hoped you’d teach me some more, but it’s nice up here. We could stay a bit longer if you want.”

    “I would like that.”

    Snow started to fall again a few minutes later and Bran shivered. The Dunmer picked up on it instantly her ears flicked forward towards him. Herian jumped off the merlon onto the walk way. “Come, I’ll give you a piggy back ride back to the keep.”

    “Cool!” Bran spun around on the merlon and lightly jumped onto her back wrapping his arms around her neck and legs tight over her waist.

    “Hold tight now. I’m going to weave a little magic so no one spots us too easily.” Herian wasn’t gifted in magic the only school she was proficient in was Illusion. She hoped that with Bran holding so tight the magic would cover him as well. Sure enough her little weave of chameleon magic hid him as well. She left her body shift over, her arms and legs lengthening. As her tail formed she said. “Don’t be afraid, just hold tight.”

    “I’m okay.” Bran said and wondered what she had planned.

    Herian took a few measured steps getting a feel for Brans weight before blasting off into a run. She hoped up onto a crate then leapt straight up into a merlon. Bran giggled in glee only just not shouting as she jumped again. It was amazing to soar through the air, he felt weightless. Herian landed on a ledge without pausing she ran from it to another leapt up to another wall. Her hand slammed into the stone creating a hand hold she vaulted up the side with inhuman ease and strength.

    The Dunmer loved Bran’s giggles as she ran and climbed her way through Winterfell, she knew they had no word for parkour but that didn’t mean she couldn’t introduce Bran to it. They came to the keep faster then Bran ever thought possible and Herian leapt from the high wall. Fear filled Bran as the ground rushed up, surely she would break her legs!

    Herian rolled with the impact bringing herself down to carry the force through her hip and she surged upright the instant later to walk it off. Bran was buzzing on her back. “You have to teach me that.”

    “Oh no, not that last one. If you tried it, you’d break your legs, as I said before. My bones are better then yours.” Herian let her body shift back as they walked through a back door and up to the private chambers of the Starks.

    They were gathered for a midday meal, Sansa was sitting with Catelyn. Rob and Jon were together and three youngest were nibbling on bread and jam. “My Thane I deliver one Bran.” Herian knelt letting Bran jump off her back, he raced to his father and climbed up into Eddard’s lap. “You should have see it father! We ran from the outer wall, well Herian ran, oh and jumped and climbed. It was amazing. It felt as if we were flying!”

    Catelyn set her stitching down and look on the pink cheeks of her son. “You could have fallen! Why must you encourage him so?” She glared at Herian.

    The Dunmer strode forth letting her lypin features resed till she appeared human again. “Careful Lady, were I more prideful I would have taken offense at the suggestion that I would fall.”

    Catelyn scowled at the elf and looked to her husband to chastise the elf. Instead Ned was smiling as Bran settled in his lap. “Have a little faith Cat, if Bran he was in any danger it would be different. As it seems now it was good fun for both of them.”

    Herian helped herself to an apple, the hot houses were one of her favourite places in Winterfell, the produce was good as well. Rob spoke up as she bit into it with a crunch. “Will you stand with us when the king arrives?”

    “No. People like him a prefer to meet from a distance.”

    Ned chuckled at that. “Most defiantly wise, seeing as you fear my hall as well. Robert will be plenty loud for you.”

    “I do not fear it. They would fear me, I’d rather not stir your hall.” Herian turned her nose up slightly as she tired to maintain an even voice.

    That only made Ned smile more, he could hear the unease in her voice and knew the lift of nose was her putting on airs. “As you say Herian.”

    “I can’t wait till they come, I wonder who we will met. What lords and knights.” Rob said fiddling with a piece of bread. “Or what ladies.”

    “I find it likely you will find it less fun when they are here. The chatter of nobles is often dull.” Herian grumbled. “They often only know ignorance and not of the world beyond their walls. With only dull stories of petty dramas.”

    “You speak like you’ve been to such events.” Ned smiled, oh he was with her on that sentiment.

“I find that unlike one such as uncouth as yourself would never be invited to such things.” Cat said with a barely contained sneer. She did not like how alike this Herian was to her husband.

Herian laughed at that, her whole chest shaking and stock her head. Red hair like blood tumbled down her shoulders as her hood fell. “Uncouth, that might be the most polite insult I’ve ever had directed my way.”

Rickon ran over to her and reached for her hair. “Up!” Herian scooped him and set him on her hip so he was free to play with her hair with both hands.

“I did not mean it like that.” Cat’s cheeks flamed.

“I don’t doubt it... Lady Catelyn.”

The cheekiness in Herian’s voice only served to anger her further. _Lady Catelyn_ , the implication filled her with hate.

“Enough bickering. We are dining here to avoid that. Thank you for bring Bran to us Herian.” Ned cut in before it could escalate.

    Herian bowed her head to him. “Enjoy your meal.” She departed with a smirk, _Cat zero, me one._

 

* * *

 

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

    Herian watched from the roof of the stables behind the Starks, partly cloaked in a spell of chameleon, partly because she wished her Thane to know where she was. The smile she had gained when he spotted her perch made it worth it; and as long as she didn't move to much chances were low that anyone else would spot her.

    Unfortunately she did not like this King almost instantly, he did not possess the baring of someone how took his throne seriously. The Queen, she was confident she would grow to loath. The Dark elf resisted the urge to wave her hand over her nose when she caught a whiff of the Queens children. A bunch of inbred bastards, “More lovely news for my Thane.” she thought bitterly. For the last two weeks she had devoted her time to Jon, for she was going to ask him tonight while everyone was at the feast if he wanted to be her apprentice. The other effect of that was that she had been giving her Thane space and time to work through the information she had given him. Herian tapped her fingers against the stone and listened to the King and his Queen, make their introductions.

    Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with this terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannsister.

    Yet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned . . . until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug. “Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours.” The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. “You’ve not changed at all.”

    Would that Ned had been able to say the same. Fifteen years past, when they had ridden forth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm’s End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden’s fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armour and great antlered helmet of this House, be became a veritable giant. He’d had a giant’s strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron Warhammer that Ned could scarcely lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood clung to him like a perfume.

    Now it was perfume that clung to him like perfume, and he had a girth to match his height. Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion, when the stag and the direwolf had joined to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy’s fallen stronghold, where Robert had accepted the rebel lords’s surrender and Ned had taken his son Theon as a hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.

    Yet Robert was Ned’s king now, and not just a friend, so he said only. “Your Grace. Winterfell is yours.”

    By then the others were dismounting as well, and the grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert’s queen Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen’s ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced and approved by both sides.

    No sooner had those formalities of greeting had been completed than the king has said to his host. “Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

    “We've been riding for a month my love, surely the dead can wait.” The Queen said.

    “Ned.” The King said sharply, Ned bowed to the Queen and rushed off to guide his King.

    _I'm glad he is not my King._ Thought Herian and silently jumped down from her perch to follow her Thane.

    Through the halls and the courtyards of the colossal fortress, a silent, elf shaped silhouette silently followed both the Stark and the King. She remained but a few feet behind the pair. Pressed up against walls, hidden from the light of the sun. Herian followed without a sound, like a shadow, there and yet not, at the same time.

    Soon enough, both parties and their silent pursuer entered into the Crypt. The colossal mausoleum of stone. It smelt of death, a familiar scent for the elf, she wrinkled her nose at the stench.

    Upon entering the tomb, still hidden from her Thane and the King, Herian allowed her concealment magics to fade slightly more and moved through the shadows, staying just within ear shot.

    “Tell me about Jon Arryn.” Ned said.

    “One minute he was fine,” Robert signed. “And then. Burned right threw him whatever it was. I loved that man.”

    As the King spoke, the Stark spared the man a small glance. As he looked though, Eddard saw something. Just out of the corner of his eye, a shadow within the darkness of the Crypt. It was there, and yet not. A black shape, so familiar.

    His gaze held, for just a moment, before he returned to the King.

    “We both did.” Ned said grimly.

    “He never had to teach you much, but me. You remember me at sixteen?” Both men chuckled. “All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls. He showed me what was what.”

    “Aye.” Ned said and looked over to his king.

    “Don't look at me like that, it’s not his fault I didn't listen.”

    Both men shared another chuckle, they stopped and turned to each other. Herian ducked into an alcove, and let Ned catch a corner of her grey cloak with his eye.

    The King sighed. “I need you Ned, down at Kings Landing not up here where you are no damned use to anybody.”

    Herian watched as the joy fell from her Thane's face and fought the need to growl.

    “Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King.” Robert said solemnly.

    Ned got down on a knee and said. “I am not worthy of the honour.”

    “I'm not trying to honour you, I'm trying to get you to run my Kingdom while I eat, drink and whore my way to an early grave.” The last few words were said with mirth.

    _Defiantly don't like that man._ Herian thought. _What a selfish bastard._

    “Damn it, Ned stand up.” The King slapped Ned on the shoulder, Ned stood. “You helped me win the Iron Throne now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule together.”

    Herian watched the emotions fly over Neds features, he rarely was this open. Denial was the strong of them as he looked often at the ground and had his mouth open to speak but never said anything.

    “If your sister had lived,” the King resumed. “we be bound by blood. Well it’s not too late, I have a son, you have a daughter, we'll join our houses.”

    The King turned and walked back the way they had come past Ned who still hadn't said a word. Herian pressed herself into the shadows as the King past, by the Seventeen she wanted to do something but was at a loss at to what.

    Ned turned and followed his King, Herian allowed him to see her and gave a nod of her head.

    They moved through the crypts till the King stopped at Lynnas's grave and pulled a perfect feather from his pocket.

    Herian hid in another alcove.

    Robert placed the feather in the status outstretched hand, grief plainly written on his face.

    “Did you have to bury her in a place like this? She should be on a hill somewhere, with the sun and the clouds above her.”  Robert said his voice thick.

    “She was my sister,” Ned said softly. “this is where she belongs.”

    “She belonged with me.” Robert gently touched the statues cheek. “In my dreams I kill him every night.”

    “It's done your grace, the Targaryens are gone.”

    “Not all of them.” The King growled out.

    Ned had nothing to say to that.

* * *

 

    Herian followed her Thane for the rest of the day, till he had to go into the Keep for the feast. From the shadows, a soft touch briefly passed over the man’s arm, just briefly and yet just real enough for him to feel it. Ned turned where he stood and scanned all that was around him. There were people, the sound of the feast just a few rooms over. Otherwise though, there was nothing but a slight breeze through the castle halls.

Outside, a silent figure slipped across the courtyard and away from the loud party in the distance. She’d much rather be around things more, her type. So, it didn't take long to find the training yard. And Jon, beating up a grass dummy with very poor form. If one to describe it, it was more like the boy was just flailing around a sword. Swinging back and forth as the blade struck the dummy from one side then the next. The shard of metal struck vital spots and non-vital ones, ones that could easily be taken advantage of in the hands of another fighter. Upon striking the dummy upon the head with a downward swipe, Jon sighed. _Well, at least this is easier than dealing with someone living._ He mused, _Or worse-_

    “Beating up the dummy will get you nowhere Jon.”

Like the sudden shattering of glass, Jon shot upward and turned on the spot. The boy’s arms shot upward in a snap and gripped his weapon tightly. Startled, the youth turned on the spot and glanced around with a worried gaze. Yet what was in front of him?

It made Jon groan.

_-her._

Herian stepped from the shadow and pulled her hood down, though her face was still hidden by the helm. She drew her thin Daedric scimitar and side stepped around till he had to turn to face her. “Come then, I have a pretty good idea why you are angry. Feel free to take it out on me and not the dummy.”

    “You make it sound as if either are preferable.” The boy mumbled and stepped from the dummy and held his sword in the proper stance, she had beaten the crap out of him enough the last almost two months to know when she was being serious. For she had never drawn her own blade before. He swallowed thickly as he gazed at the harsh black mental. The length of the blade was thin and the edge sharp, it had a long red vein that glowed in the dark, the curve of the blade as very slight and only started about mid-way through it.

    “Fight Jon, I did not draw it for you to stare.” She crouched low and Jon saw the horse stance she had been drilling into him. It made her appear to coil like a snake getting ready to strike.

    He sank into his stance and raised his blade up to the side of his head. The black haired boy had a feeling this was not going to be like their usual bots.

    The dark elf lunged forward with a snarl, cleaving clearly for his side. Jon caught the black blade on his simple steel, the noise was horrible. The steel screamed as the black bit into it, Jon could see a large chip carved out of the blade. Unfortunately while he was looking that the blade, Herians' free hand shot out palm flat.

_Shit!_

    Before his mouth could even react to the yelp, the elf’s hand slammed into the boy’s chest with a crushing blow. It was as if a horse had kicked him across the chest, without a sliver of armor either.

    Jon was sent flying away from her, sprawling several feet until his body slammed into the cold hard ground. He felt a rib crack, he lay dazed on the ground, didn't even attempt to get up.

    Instead, he simply groaned. _Why must everything hurt so?_

    Herian sheathed her blade, walked over to the boy, knelt and touched his chest with her finger tips. Blue sparks flew from her hand into his body and very suddenly his chest no longer hurt.

    “Wha?” Jon sat up and touched his chest tentatively.

    “Magic, I can transform into a werewolf it surely isn't that shocking.” Herian said.

    She did have a point their and being younger than his father his mind had a much easier time of wrapping around the concept.

    Herian pulled Jon to his feet. “I have an offer for you.”

    “What?” Jon asked.

    “Would you like to apprentice under me? I have already asked your father and he has agreed to it if you do.” The elf said smoothly, another smirk much like a teasing fox.

    Eyes wide, the boy blinked. Once, twice, and then a third time.

    “Excuse me?”

    Amused by the boy’s bewildered expression, Herian crossed her arms and shot him another smirk, “Did your ears suffer quite the blow as well? Its as I said, I wish to take you as an apprentice, to learn quite more than you would against these dummies.”

    In the distance, the sound of wind blew through the training yard with a sharp hiss. It burned against Jon's ears, sharply reminding him that he was awake and not unconscious. When training with Herian, it was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

    Either way, the boy could not believe his ears, "You, want me, to be your apprentice?" Truly, that sounded like something a dream would cook up, not reality.

    “I did just ask did I not?” Herian let her small be heard. “As you may of guessed I have both a broad and very specific skill set. The organization I belong to is very picky when it comes to recruiting and you fit many of the qualifications. You would come with me wherever I go, while I will not be able to have you near at hand when I am acting as a bodyguard for your father. But when I don't have to worry about someone poisoning, stabbing him in the back and so on. I will be teaching you, you like the rest of your family has some magic, we will go to lengths to awaken it. You will learn how to spy, fight, alchemy and be versed with many a type of monsters. I am a Ranger, back home we are heros' for hire, we fix the little problems so the higher powers don't get burned out. Here, I have strived to fore-fill much the same role. As a Ranger you will help those in need, though it is generally for something like monster slaying, retrieval of items guarded by monsters, or curse breaking. So there is not need to fetch cats out of trees, there is the guard for that.” she chuckled.

    The young member of house Stark felt his jaw drop like a brick, like a large chunk of armour that had been loosened after a long battle. If it weren't for the muscle and flesh around his face, it would have been lying on the ground. Course, that did not stop him from gaping like a newly caught fish.

    Which only proved to make the look on Herian's face all the more smug, or amused. Jon couldn't tell. He had gotten awful used to the expression after all of their sparring matches, most of which ended with him on the ground.

    Though, perhaps that could change if he became her apprentice? Maybe?

    The whole magic thing was a bit hard to comprehend though, Jon half admitted that he was still feeling as if the blow to the head was the cause of that.

    “Well.” He gulped. “That all does sound rather temping.”

    “Though, do you really believe I would be truly capable of, all of that? Jon mused, still wheeling from it all, "It seems a bit far fetched to believe I could do some of the things you're implying.”

    “I do, not all Rangers are werewolves, most are quite normal. You are bright, you learn swiftly and you care, as I said we Rangers are very picky with our students.” Herian smiled, “Though you will have to read a lot more then you are used too.” She reached out and closed his jaw. “Someday if you really really want, you might even be able to convince me to share my lycanthropy with you. Then you might be able to beat me one day.”

    "S-share?" Jon stammered, "You mean others can become, like you?"

    The young Stark remembered how she had described her kind as 'children' of something or other. Which naturally, would mean that there were others. More gigantic wolfen beasts that could tear a horse apart like it was nothing. Jon shivered at the thought, especially at the idea of becoming something like that. It was horrifying, and slightly temping at the same time-

    “Wait.” He muttered. “You believe that I'll only be able to defeat you if I become a being like yourself?” Even for his common treatment by his family, his 'mother' especially, Jon could say that was rather rude, least in his opinion. Though giving his track record against her, it wasn't too hard to believe. “Nevermind, do not answer that. I've been dealt too many wounds already. What’s left of my pride cannot take another crack to its hide.”

    “You humans confound me.” She sat beside the boy and pulled off her helm. “There is no shame in losing, no shame in being a product of love. My Empire had to once put one such as yourself on the throne because all others of his blood had been murdered. No one was stupid enough to think any less of him because of who his mother was or was not. I say that it would take becoming one of my kind or something along those lines to beat me, because I am not human. I am strong and faster then any human could ever be. But believe me when I say, I have had my ass handed to me every more often then I hand you yours. No you do not have to become as I am, you can stay as you are forever. And I would not turn you now anyway, yes it would be good for your training. But magic, what I am, it is all too knew to you. Plus I don't think your father would forgive me. There are Rangers that are wizards, sorceresses, werewolves and vampires, we even have a few that have chosen to become witchers. But there are lots that are just like you. They trained long and hard, but they did not look to Daedra, magic, or mutation to give them at edge in battle. And they do just as well as the rest of us.” She sighed. “What makes a Ranger a Ranger, is their willingness to help others, to slay the goblins terrorizing a farmstead. To dive into that cave to find a long lost wedding ring. More often then not, rewards will be merger, coin, food and item. But frankly, its the doing of the action that is the reward, my homeland is full of ills great and small that threaten the people.” she laughed. “I knew this one Ranger that had to find a way to get rid of the Staff of the Everscamp.” The red head glanced over at the boy and coughed. “A story for another time.” After a thought. “And kid I'm twelve years your elder, it would hurt my pride to loss to you.”

    For the last minute or two, Jon had said nothing. Not a word. Instead, all that time remained focused on listening, to every word and comment the Elf had said.

    So many unfamiliar words, description, names. There was so much that it almost reminded Jon of the stories he had been told back when he was younger. Grand tales of far off places, with creatures, monsters, legends that went far and wide.

    He knew now that most were but stories, but listening to Herian made the all feel just a bit more real, possible if it were. Like the monsters that madman had claimed were beyond the wall, and even more creatures than that. As he noticed her glance, the young boy let out a small huff and sighed, "Alright, you do have a point there."

    If he were in her boots, then he couldn't complain. Still, getting his rear end kicked so often didn't help with the matter, especially when it seemed so easy for her.

    Herian watched him. “Pride is a fickle thing, I've learned to pay it no heed long ago. I've been a Ranger for three provinces, each treated me different then the last. I was in the Summerset Ilse when I found myself here, I still wonder if it was some joke by Altmeri wizards to send me here. Or if my Grandmother decided it was time for me to leave my homeland. I can't promise that there will be songs sung about you, or that you will win every fight. But it is a good life.” She snapped her fingers and created a small candle flame. “Nor can I promise that you will be good with magic, I can hide myself pretty well, heal myself and others to a limited degree. Beyond that I stink, for magic even like this.” She made the flame slightly bigger. “I cheat and use Witcher signs, they are so much easier then my homelands magic.” she laughed. “As Rangers go, I'm the blunt instrument, it ain't pretty but I get the job done.” The elf paused. “Though that could be because I picked up my homelands magic pretty late, I was first trained as a Witcher. My aunt Ghani came by when I was four with my cousin Irlan, we had such fun together that I chose to study to be a Witcher. When I turned eighteen I returned to my homeland to follow my Path there. It lead me to becoming a Ranger, as much as I love getting payed for my work. Killing Drowers does get old very fast.” she shrugged, “I never underwent Witcher mutations because I already had shown signs of lycanthropy, and none wanted to see what would happen if you mixed lycan blood and witcher mutations. That is assuming I lived at all.”

Jon blinked, "That seems, like quite the trial." Oddly, whilst hearing her story, the young Stark couldn't help but compare the elf's situation to the men who chose to abandon their lives and joined the Watch. The men who guarded the Wall of the North, and men who lived for the Watch and died for it.

Of course, Jon knew not of what the Watch really was. All he had to go on was the stories, told to him whilst at Winterfell. The tales were wide and varied, confusing and inspiring all at the same time. The creatures, the people beyond the walls. The tales of such creatures almost sounded as if they could exist in a similar manner as the creatures Herian spoke of. Of course, beyond the wall was only stories. While Herian's tales sounded far too true, to not be true. Nevertheless, Jon kept his gob quiet and listened as Herian continued her tale.

The dark elf shrugged. “I guess I'm just trying to say that you don't need to change who are what you are to be a Ranger.” the red head chuckled. “I'd be cross if you change who you are.” she stood up and offered him her hand. “Think it over, I will probably be heading south soon so you don't have unlimited time. I'm going hunting tomorrow, and I could use a hand if you're interested.”

    Jon blinked, “Sure.”  
    Extending his own hand, Jon took the elf’s gesture. With a yank, Herian pulled the young lad back onto his feet, boots planted on the ground once more.

    “Then I look forward to tomorrow then,” she smiled, “Perhaps we’ll be able to catch something that would make all in this castle red with envy. Just imagine the sight.”

    Whilst Jon dusted the dirt off himself, he paused and mused over the sight.

The two of them returning after a successful hunt, their prey draped over their backs. The guards looking on with envy, his father smiling proudly at the sight, and even Lady Stark being unable to deny the success of their venture.

As brief as it was, Jon couldn’t keep the smile from his face, “That sounds great!”

Herian glanced at the lad’s face and gave her own smile. It was nice to see the young boy actually happy for once. He was always so strict in the castle, whether it was around his family or by himself. Almost made her think that frown was plastered to his face or something.

“Wonderful, then it is a date then.” she noted, “But that said, I believe that it is time for me to make myself scarce. Might as well check on that feast; make sure no one makes a grand fool of themselves.”

Jon snorted, still in high spirits, “Far too late for that.”

With the Lannisters around, fools were aplenty, even Jon knew that. In fact, if the elf wished to keep someone from making an ass out of themselves, keeping the booze out of the hands of his family would be her best bet. Though, this was a feast.

There would be no shortage of that to be certain.

The ranger shrugged, “Perhaps, but it does not hurt to try.”

Her intention made, Jon realized there would be no convincing the Ranger. Accepting that, the young boy bid the elf goodbye and turned his gaze back to the dummy he had been failing at previously. Herian departed and disappeared back into the shadows, a small silhouette slithering back toward the castle in silence.

The light of the moon shined down on the boy as he stood out in the cold, wispy wind of the night. A breeze echoed through the courtyard as it brushed against his face. Jon glanced up at the sky and let out a sigh, the moon was full and bright as it shined down upon Winterfell.

 _At least, I know you won’t be going anywhere._ He mused.

Along with the wind, an echo of silence poured into the massive courtyard. Guards patrolled the walls of Winterfell with touches burning against the moonlight. Two guards stood at the gate of the massive castle, standing watch whilst the castle’s occupants partied inside.

Inside the cold, stone walls of Winterfell, shouts and cheers echoed through the thick walls, as if they were mere parchment. Yet as the cheers of the feast drifted into the distance, another sound met it. Along a stone pathway toward the gate of the complex, an echoing sound drew closer. Many of the guards turned their heads to the noise, weapons at the ready. A galloping noise drew closer and closer with every second, with metal horse shoes roaming over the stones as the guards looked on.

Several black figures road through the massive gates of Winterfell, with Jon oblivious to each. The young lad continued to stare up at the sky, his mind enraptured with thoughts of Herian and what she had spoken of. The sword in his hand grew loose, almost slipping out of his grip as his mind wondered on.

The dummy in front of the lad was but a forgotten memory. The lump of carved wood had lost its sentience after its creature had departed. All that was left was the training stump that it was, still covered in nicks and dents from Jon’s aggravated assault.

Still, as occupied as the boy was, he failed to notice a larger figure as it walked up behind him.

“My, you gave that thing quite the bludgeoning,” a voice mused, “I guess a swift death was too much to ask for then, my boy?”

The voice snapped Jon out of his mental ramblings and turned around. His eyes wide, the young boy almost mistook what he saw as another fit of Herian’s magic. After what he had seen that night, it was hard to imagine she wasn’t capable of such things.

Yet as he looked upon the smiling face, Jon’s somber face broke out into a large grin.

“Uncle Benjen!”

Standing just behind the young lad was a taller, much older gentlemen. He stood in Stark attire, a cloak with a fur collar around his shoulders and a leather blackened vest around his chest. The man’s face was covered in a large, thick beard, as if he had been out in the North much longer than necessary.

Yet despite his rough appearance, Benjen Stark grinned at the boy in front of him all the same.

“Jon,” Hen smiled and wrapped the boy up in a large, warm hug, “You got bigger. I rode all day. Didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters.”

His arms tied around his uncle’s shoulders, Jon let out a light chuckle. That was a one of the worst fates anyone could imagine for a Stark. The Lannisters were a vile bunch, even if one of them was the king’s wife.

For a moment or two, the two men hugged. It had been ages since the two had last seen each other. Just seeing his uncle made Jon almost giddy with glee, even if he didn’t show it.

As the hug finally ended, Benjen patted the boy on the shoulder and shot him a grin, “Its good to see ya lad. Though, why are you out here in the cold? Why not at the feast?”

Happy as he was, the mention of the goings on inside made Jon’s grin shrink, if just a bit.

“I had a bit too much to drink, need to air my head. I did not feel welcome.” He blushed, hoping his outburst wouldn’t haunt him. The conversation with Herian had helped Jon forget about that matter, if just a bit.

Too bad his uncle hadn’t been aware of this.

“Well, you’re always welcome on the wall.” Benjen swiftly reassured the lad, “No bastard was ever refused a seat there.”

Just like that, Jon’s thoughts swiftly returned to the wall. The colossal icy wall that stood to the North, a place for a new start, another life where his name and family would not matter. He remembered much talk of the place, and he recalled Herian’s words on it. Talk of being her apprentice.

“Perhaps,” Jon muttered. “I would appreciate that.”

“But, what of you uncle? How goes it? We have not heard of you in quite some time. Indeed, I bet my father will be surprised to hear that you rode all the way here just for a feast.”

Benjen laughed, “Oh, I’m sure! I have words for your father, but I also sought to rescue him from the guests inside. If I wait too long, I’d imagine Ice would get some workout this night.”

“That would be grave, there is already enough red in there with the wine as it is.”

A laugh echoed into the night, shared by the two men. Neither even held the thought of such a man drawing his sword that night, regardless of company. Then again, there were the Lannisters, and quite a large sum of liquor inside the walls of Winterfall. Combine those of the North and enough booze, and things could end rather red regardless.

“Ah, fair enough.” Benjen noted, “Then come, let us go inside, save your father from his guests, and actually have ourselves a time. Lord knows how long we’ll be able to keep to it.”

Seeing his uncle’s point, Jon relented and sheathed his sword. Despite his grievances, the two men of the House made their way inside, leaving the cold wind blowing outside.

Inside the colossal structure, the banquet raged on as one would imagine on the outside. Many people, swarms of nobles, men and women were about. Talking and laughing with each other, having the time of their lives. Both Benjen and Jon saw many familiar faces, of Stark and Lannister. There was food and drink all about, as were a merriment that made Jon frowned.

Near the corner of the room, the young lad spotted Lady Stark, talking amongst others he did not recognize. Her words, the cold tone she had spoken with ringed in the lad’s ears, almost to the point where it felt like a blade being driven between his eyes.

As best he could, Jon shook off the feelings and turned to his uncle. Whilst he couldn’t find his brother as quickly as he had hoped, the man of the wall spent his time with his nephew. They drank and traded stories on both ends. The youth spoke of the Direwolves his family had recently taken into their home and a new arrival in house Stark. He spoke not of the fantastic, mythical powers she processed but of the skill she had with a sword and dagger.

Benjen was impressed. Perhaps later if given the chance, the Stark would seek out this new arrival that his brother had found in the wilds. Would be interesting either way.

Whilst the party raged on, the two Starks eventually moved on from the loud noises and took to one of the towers. They held drinks in their hands and gazed up at the stars outside. The vast sky looked like a blackened sheet with small specks of light shining through the cracks.

Both men sighed at the sight, it was so peaceful. Quite the contrast to the echoing, raging party that was going on down below. The sounds of the feast could be heard even then, through the stone that made up the walls, floor, and ceiling above their head.

“Somehow, I am already missing the cold peace of the Wall.” Benjen noted with a chuckle, “The wind is much less noisy then the drunken screeching down below.”

Jon chuckled, “I can imagine.”

Raising his glass, Benjen gazed out the tower peak and looked up at the stars above, “Though, the sky is much more beautiful here, I’ll admit. No clouds constantly getting in the way. Rather, quaint actually.”

“The Wall is but a fortress, a standing brace against all that is beyond it. There is little room for comfort, or family there.” He mused, “I suppose some prefer it due to that, but having witnessed this?”

He chuckled, “It’s going to be hard to go back.”

“You’ll find a way,” Jon told him, “You wouldn’t be wearing that if you hadn’t the guts. Hell, I may be joining you one day, if my nerves permit me.”

Taking a drink, Benjen spared a small glance at the boy beside him, “You sure about that lad?”

“You do not know what you’ll be giving up. As I said, there are no families at the Wall, we cannot have children, there is but two things there. The Watch and the Wall.”

“Do you think you are prepared for that?”

In the silence that was the old tower, Jon lowered his glass and thought to himself. He had asked that question himself before, with an elf standing before him. Back then he was unsure, and now? He was still unsure. Everything about the wall brought a sense of uncertainty.

Oddly, it wasn’t as bone chilling as it once been.

As he though, Jon felt his uncle pat him on the shoulder with a large, thick glove, “Ah, don’t worry about it lad. There is still time, and as I said, you are always welcome. The Wall does not turn away someone, especially if they have the nerve to approach it in the first place.”

“But,” he told the lad, “Just, don’t rush, you hear? The wall hasn’t gone anywhere in the last hundred years, and won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”

Jon nodded. If his uncle had brought such an offer to him just a day or so ago, he might have accepted it without a second though. The lad would have thrown everything to the wayside, just for a spot on the wall, damned the consequences. Still, that was a day ago. His thoughts shifting to an earlier conversation, Jon bit back a chuckle and swallowed a bit of brew, “You make it sound so tempting uncle, as if a piece of meat dangling in front of my face.”

“Still, soon perhaps, soon.”

“That’s all I ask,” Benjen chuckled, giving the boy a pat across the back, “That, and a bit of hunting before I take my leave. I do miss the green trees and hills out here, far less snow than there is at Castle Black.”

Jon smirked, “I would like that too uncle. Though I warn you, there might be more creatures in those words than you might remember, that’s for sure.”

The wolves, deer, and elks were one thing, but when there was some sort of monstrous deer abomination lurking around, one with enough strength to kill a Direwolf mother and a wolfen Ranger? That could be something even the Night’s Watch may need to watch out for. Jon chuckled. That was a horrible joke.

Unbeknownst to the boy’s poke at his profession, Benjen took a deep drink from from his cup and pushed himself away from the wall, “Fair enough. Hell, maybe you’ll be the one to teach me something new.”

“Oh, you put far too much faith in me uncle.”

The Stark shrugged, “Say what you will. Me though? I think I shall call it a night.”

“Oh, must you?” Jon asked, “But the night is still young?”

Noting the boy’s frown, Benjen let out a small shrug and rolled his shoulders, “Sorry lad, but this may be the first time in a long while I may be able to get some rest on my terms. That and I still gotta find ya old man. He has to be around here somewhere.”

Jon rolled his eyes, “True, and we haven’t heard any screaming, so he hasn’t snapped yet.”

“Ah, true enough.” Ben nodded, “Still, I think I’ll be off to the night lad.”

Taking a step back from the window, both men of House Stark turned to each other. With strong arms, the two embraced each other once again. Jon wrapped his arms around his uncle, and Ben did the same.

“Just don’t be a stranger Uncle, and don’t let me catch you sneaking off without a goodbye.”

    The man of the Watch let out a laugh, “Ha! As if I can be that sneaky.”

After a minute or two of their hug, the two separated once more. Ben held his brother’s son and shoulders length and offered him a stern, yet comforting smile, “I won’t be going anywhere laddy. Least not without word.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Under the light of the moon, Ben offered his young relative a warm goodbye and took his leave. Down the stairs back into the major halls of Winterfell, with a slight stumble in his step. Jon watched as his uncle departed a small smile on his face.

The black coated figure soon vanished back into the cold, stony walls of the massive fortress, gone back into the loud noises that echoed below. Whilst he did, Jon shook his head and turned his gaze back out the window. He turned his eyes upward and stared into the night’s sky.

“So that is your Uncle? Can’t say I expected that from the Night’s Watch.

Jon lowered his head.

    Off to the side of the hall he stood in, a new figure stepped forward. A drink in his hand, a short man, disproportionally so, stepped out from the shadows and walked up to the young man. Clothed in a vest, regal pants, and a rather self-respectful nature about him, the short individual took a few steps forward and had a long sip of his mug. He was a ugly man with one green and black eye, his hair a mix of black and pale blonde.

    The young Stark took a step back, surprised by the sudden arrival.

“What’re you doing back there?”

Now standing across from the lad, the shorter of the two men waved his drink back and forth, “Preparing for a night with your family. I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.”

Despite his appearance, the strange man spoke with a certain tone in his voice. Almost despite his outward appearance, he held a sort of self-respect toward himself. Every word that left his mouth was drenched in a certain tone, one Jon swiftly recognized.

“You’re Tyrion Lannister. The queen’s brother?” he asked, slightly hesitant.

Tyrion smirked and raised his mug, “My greatest accomplishment.”

After a long, deep swig of the drink, the Lannister let loose a long, satisfied sigh. Jon could imagine that it was one hell of a drink, from that reaction at least. Once his sigh had finished, Tyrion sent the youth a curious look, “You, you are Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”

    A simple question, yet Jon flinched at it all the same. He took a step back and looked away. His eyes glanced at the closest bit of stone he could, gaze filled with shame and a touch of resentment.

Something that did not go unnoticed.

Tyrion frowned, “Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard, though.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.” Jon sharply replied.

“And Lady Stark is not your mother.” The dwarf countered, “Making you the bastard. Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour. Then it can never be used to hurt you.”

Amidst the halls of Winterfell, Jon gritted his teeth tighter and tighter. Regardless of Tryion knowing or not, each word the Lannister spoke sent a jolt of anger through the young Stark. Whatever relief the party had given the boy soon melted away, leaving a hot boiling pot of anger for him to simmer on. It continued to build and build until Jon could not take it anymore.

“What the hell do you know about being a bastard?” he snapped, roaring with teeth bared.

The young lad’s voice echoed through the hall, a shout of defiance, of anger, of shame at what he was. He unleashed all he had in one, single burning moment, directed at the shorter man that shared the air with him.

Yet after the boy’s enraged shout, Tyrion did not snap back or look angry at the boy’s words.

He simply stared and with one shrug of his shoulders, raised his drink back to his lips.

“All dwarfs are bastards in their fathers’ eyes.”

* * *

 

Of all the rooms in Winterfell’s Great Keep, Catelyn’s bedchambers were the hottest. She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man’s body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in the summer; in the winter it was the difference between life and death.

Catelyn’s bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch. The warmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned could never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong place.

So when they had finished, Ned rolled off and climbed from her bed, as he had a thousand times before. He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw open the high narrow windows one by one letting the night air into the chamber.

The wind swirled around him as he stood facing the dark, naked and empty-handed. Catelyn pulled the furs to her chin and watched him. He looked somehow smaller and more vulnerable, like the youth she had wed in the sept at Riverrun, fifteen long years gone. Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovemaking. It was a good ache. She could feel his seed within her. She prayed that it might quicken there. It had been three years since Rickon. She was not too old. She could give him another son.

    “I will refuse him.” Ned said as he turned back to her. His eyes were haunted, his voice thick with doubt.

    Catelyn sat up in the bed. “You cannot. You _must_ not.”

    “My duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert’s Hand.”

    “He will not understand that. He is a king now, and kings are not like other men. If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to suspect that you oppose him. Can’t you see the danger that would put us in?”

    Ned shook his head, refusing to believe. “Robert would never harm me or any of mine. We were closer then brothers. He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and bluster, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!”

    “You knew the man.” She said. “The king is a stranger to you. Pride is everything to a king, my lord. Robert came all this way to see you, to bring you these great honors, you cannot throw them back in his face.”

    “Honors?” Ned laughed bitterly.

    “In his eyes, yes.” She said.

    “And in yours?”

    “ _And_ in mine,” she blazed, angry now. Why couldn’t he see? “He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen. Her sons could rule form the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with that?”

    “Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only _eleven._ ” Ned said. “And Joffrey… Joffrey is. . .”

    She finished for him. “… crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.”

    That brought a bitter twist to Ned’s mouth. “Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King’s Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me.”

    “Perhaps not,” Catelyn said, “but Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not.”

    Ned turned away from her, back to the night. He stood staring out in the darkness, watching the moon and the stars perhaps, or perhaps the sentries on the wall.

    Catelyn softened then, to see his pain. Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon’s place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the other, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his bastard son. She was about to go to him when the knock came at the door, loud and unexpected. Ned turned, frowning. “What is it?”

    A soft knock filled the room and a voice said. “It’s Maester Luwin, my lord.”  
    “Send him in.” The Lord spoke neutrally.

    The bald Maester Luwin came in wearing his grey robs. “Pardon, my lord, my lady. A rider in the night from your sister.”

    Cat swiftly felt the bed and took the note from Luwin then moved to a candle to read it.  
    The Maester moved to leave.   
    “Stay.” Ned said the Luwin.   
    “This was sent from the Eyrie. What’s she doing at the Eyrie? She hasn’t been back there since her wedding.” Catelyn read the note swiftly, with a look of growing distress she strode over to the fireplace and threw the letter in.   
    “What news?” Ned asked as he walked over to his wife.   
    “She’s fled the capital. She says Jon Arryn was murdered. By the Lannisters. She says the king is in danger.”

    Ned frowned, Herian had already told him this though with her it was just a guess, she admitted to that readily. Now the same news again, but from a source that was not a guess. The recalled the elfs words. “Fevers do not spare loved ones.” he thought, then looked at his wife.

    “What is it Ned? Do you know something?” Cat asked watching her husbands face.

    “Herian mentioned to me that Jon Arryns' death didn't sound natural. Apparently she is knowledgeable with such things, she could offer no proof but was concerned. Now this comes,” he gestured to the fire place. “Do you think she is sure?”  
    “Lysa’s head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter. Do you think she would risk her life, her son’s life, if she wasn’t certain her husband was murdered?” Catelyn said firmly.

    Luwin entered the conversation. “If this news is true, and the Lannisters conspire against the throne, who but you can protect the king?”  
    “They murdered the last Hand. Now you want Ned to take the job.” Cat said in the same desperate town.   
    “The king rode for a month to ask Lord Stark’s help. He’s the only one he trusts. You swore the king an oath, my lord.” Luwin said solely.   
    Cat argued back. “He spent half his life fighting Robert’s wars. He owes him nothing.” To Ned she said. “Your father and brother rode south once on a king’s demand.”   
    The Maester said softly. “A different time. Different king.”   
    Herian listened from outside holding into the cold stone. She did not like this, Ned made it clear he did not wish to go south. What was this though about his father and brother? The Dunmer pursed her lips, maybe a chat with Old Nan was in order after all.


	4. Hunting Party

    The Dunmer of Winterfell’s eyes snapped open to predawn darkness. She sat up in her fur covered bed the heavy pelts slid free of her nude body. Silently she stepped from the bed and walked over to the window. Fine fingers found the latch in the pure darkness and opened it. Cold fall air lashed into the room but she only hummed in pleasure. Extending her claws she perched on the windowsill and climbed out her claws digging into the grey stone. She scaled the keep to stand upon the roof, Winterfell was lit by only the gibbous moon in the sky. Herian walked to the highest edge of the keep and stretched up onto the tips of her toes her arms up embracing the moon. Her wolf blood sung even as the clouds pressed in, threatening to hamper the light. The wind picked up sending her blood red hair dancing out behind her. She felt a presence behind her.

    Herian turned to see no one, wait no there was a man a dwarf. She had to think for a moment but then she remembered Tyrion. A Lannister. What was he doing out of bed at this hour? Had he seen her? Herian almost snarled at the thought, she had left clothes behind because she felt liberated without them. Like her spirit was free to dance upon her skin, some part of her deep down found clothing to be unnatural. Even if it was a necessary evil at times. “I see you lion, speak your peace or leave me be.”

    Tyrion stepped out of a shadow he pushed open a door from behind him. Candle light safe from the wind within a hall lite his misshapen face. She did not like his eyes, one green the other black. Something was not right about them, well a lot of things weren’t right about him. “How did you see me?”

    “My skills are my own.”

    “Fair enough.” The halfman walked over the roof to look out over Winterfell. “Strangely enough I love heights though my sister would have a fit if she saw me up here.”

    “That why you come in the moonlight?” Herian saw no shadows near her and was forced to let him see her.

    “Yes, didn’t think I’d have company though.” Tyrion Lannister looked over to the strange woman again. He had never seen a woman so fit or with an elegance that came so easily. “What are you? A creature from beyond the Wall?”

    Herian smiled. “After a fashion.”

    “The rumors say you’ve given yourself to Eddard.”

    “Most rumors have a grain of truth.”

    “Talking to you is worse then that old woman the children here love. Nan was it? Tyrion contemplated a drink.

    “Mayhap your confusion amuses me.”

    Tyrion snorted a laugh. “Very little confuses me.”

    “I know not the word in your tongue for what you are to me and I to you.”  Herian walked over and stepped up onto a merlon, she lifted her face to the sky again. The moonlight was not the same as Nirn’s moons but it was soothing.

    “What is the word in your tongue then?” Tyrion’s eyes traced her curves.

    “Alien. It seems to be strange or foreign, to not belong with what is around it.” Herian looked down upon the dwarf. “You are alien to those around you. You are strange to those who know you and foreign to the north.” She turned her red-purple eyes outward. “I can empathize.”

    “You are very well read for a Wildling.”

    A smile pulled at Herian’s lips but she did not let it show. “We had a saying about assumptions at home.”

    “And what is that?”

    “That they make an ass out of you.”

    Tyrion laughed a warm thing this time, his belly giggling. “To true. So are you not a Wilding then?”

    “I am not human, Wildings are human.”

    “What are you then?”

    “Nothing that would mean anything to you. Nor do I seek to explain it to you, you are Lannister Lion. The Starks dislike you thus I have no reason to trust in you.”

    “You’re wise. Trusting anyone is a very unwise endeavor.” Tyrion pulled a small wine skin from his heavy coat and took a sip. “How is it you are not freezing?”

    “My blood is hot.”

    “Don’t say that around the King, he might think you are some Targaryen offshoot. Hot dragon blood and all that.”

    Herian chuckled, that was an interesting thought. That dragons were in this land as well. “I do have dragon blood, but I do not think it is the same as this Targaryen blood.”

    Tyrion looked at her with a raised brow but didn’t give her more then that. “What does that let you do then?”

    The dragonborn closed her eyes, feeling her Thu'um build her chest as she longed to roar. “Many things. Many someday you will see them. Keep what you have seen tonight to yourself, I can hear a lie so I will know if you don’t.” Herian dropped lightly back too the roof and returned to her room to dress. She picked her way through the keep to Jon’s room and poked him in the shoulder. “Wake up.” She hissed.

    Jon turned over and jumped upright. “Wa?”

    “Get dressed and get ready, I want to be out before dawn. I have no idea how long we are going to have to look or wait. I'll wait for you in the stables.” The dark elf whispered and then departed with haste.”

    By the time Jon was dressed and ready the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon, Herian was waiting for him with a horse.

    ‘ _Wasn't kidding, was she?’_

    The youth resisted the urge to yawn and rubbed his face. With the warmth of his gloves caressing his face, the young Stark shook the sleep from his eyes and dragged himself out of the castle and made for the stables. "You know, if being your apprentice will require me to wake up this early so often, I may reconsider your offer."

    Near the entrance of the stables, Herian rolled her eyes at the young Stark. “You will get used to it.” She smiled at him and added. “It won't usually be this early. But I want to be out there before the King, I heard rumblings of him wanting to go hunting today. Given what we are hunting the fewer people in the forest the better.” She tossed the reins over the horses neck. “So you've made up your mind on my offer?”

    Jon shook his head. "Not exactly, but I have been considering. Why? Do you need your answer now?"

    Again, Herian smiled at the young Stark. As he approached her, the elf patted the lad on the shoulder and shook her head, "No, not yet. I was just curious. Shall we go?”

    Jon rolled his neck and gave her a nod. "Yes yes. Let us get going. Just let me go get myself a horse of my own, alright?"

    Pushing past the Ranger, Jon made his way into the stable. Given the massive size of Winterfell, there were quite a number of steads to pick from. It would be easy to select one out of the horde of horses for him to use. As he entered the grassy stable though, Herian grabbed him by the shoulder and held Jon back. Jon blinked, "Um...okay. Then, just go get yours and then we can get on our way, yes?" Inwardly, Jon was a bit surprised. He was thankful that she had already gotten a horse out for him, but why hadn't she gotten one for herself? Surely she would have had enough time. He tried to study the elf.

    Blush crept into the elfs' cheeks and she shuffled on the spot. “I kinda put on a brave face when we went riding the last few times. So I had hoped that you would let me ride behind you today.”

    For a matter of seconds, Jon stared widely at the elf. The two stood next to the single mount, varied expressions upon their faces.

    Whilst Herian looked away, hiding her face from the young boy, John stared with big, wide yes. His mouth hung open like a fish, words lost for a few brief seconds.

    Honestly, he had not the slightest idea of what to say. "A, brave face? You don't like to ride then?"

    Now the blush was evident to Jon. “I don't like to ride anything with more than two legs. And it’s not that I don't like to ride, it’s that I don't like to ride horses.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and decided the ground was fascinating.  

    Jon was stunned. "Horses." He asked, just to be sure, "You don't like horses?"

    Her, the Ranger. A person who could change into a gigantic wolf-like creature that could make even the most feared killers seem like kittens.

    And she, didn't like horses?

    Honestly, Jon didn't know if he should laugh, look away, or just stare blankly at the woman in front of him. Heck, the horse likely had a better idea of how to react.

    Herian said nothing for a moment. Instead, she sent him a glare instead.

    Jon winced, "Ah, sorry. I didn't mean. Just, horses? Really?"

    Herian nodded. “Aye, I didn't grow up with them and I have a few to many bad experiences with things with many legs and bigger than me.” The elf was just shy of five and a half feet, so many things were bigger than her, even Jon. “We have spiders at home that are...” She trailed off and shuddered violently. “I just don't like then, I don't like things moving between my legs with minds of their own.” The elf hugged herself and uttered looking at the ground again. 

    Caught off guard by the rather sharp turn in the Elf's personality, Jon raised his hands. "Oh, alright then. Sorry. I wasn't aware that you had such a bad experience with them." He apologized, more confused than really sorry.  Still, Jon glanced back at the horse and had a thought. "But, if you won't be riding, then how will you catch up with me if I am?”

    “May I ride behind you? Normally I would just shift into my other shape. But that is not productive with that I want to do today.” She pulled her bag off her shoulder and pulled out an amulet. In the centre was a small stylistic metal wolf head, beside it to the fight was a claw and fang of an unknown creature, finally to the right. A thin silver crescent moon, with a gold fine five pointed star held in the moons centre. The dark elf put the amulet on, it shrank to sit just about her collar bone, then she pulled her hold up. A hand fell to the amulet, a finger stroked a wolf’s cheek and she calmed slightly. “I would rather not make this any more awkward than it may already be.”

    In front of the stable, Jon raised his hands and shook his head. “Of course. All you had to do was ask,” he replied, “It’s no trouble at all.”

    Raising her gaze up from her amulet, Herian spared the young lad a small smile. A small bit of gratitude was shared with the Stark. This was not something she shared with anyone. It would be hard to get work if your clients knew you were rather bias against horses of all things.

    Inwardly though, Jon bit back a nervous chuckle. _‘Much better that then the alternative.’_ He mused.

    Would have been a rather difficult subject to explain to the guards upon the walls if they saw a giant wolf creature follow him into the forest. Hell, how would they be so sure that the horse wouldn’t high tail it the moment it saw her. No matter worrying about getting to the forest. Herian would be picking arrows out of her back before they even reached the tree line, and that wouldn’t do.

    Turning to the massive stead, Jon walked up to the creature and grabbed onto its saddle. With a strong pull, the boy lifted one leg over the beast’s back and placed himself upon the horse. Under his weight, the horse shifted back and forth before it settled. Whilst making himself comfortable, Jon grabbed the reigns of his mount and glanced down at his companion. Still at his side, Herian inched backwards away from the animal, all while giving it an unsightly look. Jon couldn’t help it. Reigns in hand, he cracked a small smile. He did not voice it, but from atop the horse it was hard not to notice how small the elf looked from up above. The Stark offered the elf a small smile and extended his hand, “Now, shall we be off?”

    On the ground, Herian crossed her arms and looked up at her Thane’s son. She bit her lip at the creature he rode but took notice of the welcoming gesture he made. After a moment or two of silence, the elf bit back a sigh and with great reluctance, took the boy’s hand with her own.

    “Yes,” She muttered. “And be quick about it we should be as well. The longer the sun is in the sky, the more difficult our hunt will be.”

    Jon rolled his eyes. “You say that as if it would be easy.”

    “No, but a Ranger would not make a hunt harder on themselves than it already would be.”

    His hand grasping hers, Jon reached down and swiftly pulled Herian onto the horse with a strong tug. The elf swung her leg over the creature’s back, right behind Jon. She uncomfortably settled atop the four legged animal, a frown already formed across her face. It had been less than a few seconds and already she wanted off.   

    Jon resisted the urge to smile at the elf’s expression and turned his gaze to the road ahead. He grabbed the horse’s reigns and gave them a quick snap.

    The horse began to march forward at a steady pace, one hoof after another as it emerged from the stables and walked into the courtyard ahead. Herian gave a little yelp and wrapped an arm around Jon’s waist.

Everything now set; Jon snapped the reigns once more and shook the mount into gear. With a sudden gallop, the horse and its riders, willing and not, lurched forward into a brisk pace. It flew across the courtyard, horse shoes clattering against the stone covered path below it and raced toward the complex’s gate.

    Whilst the guards looked on, the pair left Winterfell. Beyond the massive walls of the Stark fortress, the duo rode onward into whatever was ahead. Dirt paths, grassy fields, and a large forest that hovered on into the horizon. Jon couldn't help but grin how every bump caused Herians arm to tighten around his waist. Plus the little sound she made when they moved into a gallop was something he'd always remember when he needed to laugh. The sun had just crept over the horizon when they arrived at the forest.

    “Should we send the horse back?” Herian asked as they entered the forest.

“Yeah.” Jon said and stopped the horse.

    Herian all but leapt in haste to get away from it. “Then send it, it will only be a liability.”

Jon dismounted and tried the reins loosely to the saddle horn and pulled out a bit of white cloth and tired it to the horn, then patted the horse’s rear. “So where are we going?” 

    “Don't know, we'll know when we find it.” Herian set off into the forest, the morning chorus just starting.

    Jon pursed his lips and followed, he had a feel another lesson was inbound.

    The Dark elf lead the way to the same bit of bridge that they had found the deer at, then she stopped and pressed a finger to the wolf medallion at her throat.

    “Something wrong?” Jon asked, frost nipping at his nose.

    “No,” She turned and showed him the medallion. “this senses magic. Both a Leshen and a Direwolf ended up in this spot at roughly the same time… I think there is a Place of Power nearby, they are places were magic gathers. I think magic in this land dwindles in the summers and gathers in the winters. But in places like a place of power, the magic would be steady on some level. Hence the Direwolf and Leshen, we are going to find the place of power and see what’s around it. After then we are going to look for the Leshens totem, it will probably be nearby.” She pulled her bow and quiver off her back and offered then to Jon. The boy tried the quiver to his waist then the elf held the bow out and touched just about the grip.

    Daedric runes appeared and glowed orange along the length of the black bow. “This is enchanted with fire, any arrow that you let fly from this bow will set the target on fire.”

    Jon hesitantly took the bow.

    “Do not miss, see if you can draw it.” Herian stepped to the side.

    Jon drew the bow slowly, arms straining it was the hardest bow to draw he had ever held, but he pulled it off.

    Herian smiled. “Well done, think you can manage that?”

    “Yeah.” Jon said with a small smile, the bow was warm in his hands.

    “Come on then.” She set off the road to the left with a determined yet silent stride.

    Jon followed and tried to mimic her stride.

    “On your toes, then follow with your heel.” Herian offered the critique without turning.

    Jon did as instructed and they continued for almost two hours, the strain from the new time of walking, the cold and the nearly morning were catching up with Jon. Finally Herian came to a stop and gestured for Jon to stand beside her, Jon heard a quiet jiggle and looked over to the elf.

    Her wolf medallion was twitching all on its own, Herian smiled and stretched out a hand.

    There was a crack and a resonating boom, before the two of them about two meters away an orb of blue light shined brightly before them.

    The elf gestured to it. “After you, just touch it.”

    Jon swallowed thickly and did as he was told, his fingers just brushed the orb then his world spun and darkness closed around him.

   

* * *

 

    “Wake up Jon we don't have all day.” A finger prodded his chest.

    “Ow.” Jon said sitting up, and pressed a hand to his head. He felt tingly almost drunk but not inhibited. It felt good, strange but good like something had opened up inside of him.

    Herian laughed, a high musical sound. “Welcome to magic kiddo. The feeling will pass that was one of the nicest introductions that I've seen.”

    “You done this to others?” Jon asked standing slowly up, Herian's bow in hand.

    “No, but in other places, using magic can be pretty nasty. We've lucked out here and that it is very alike my homeland, comes from a different place and much tamer but it speaks nice language.”

    “Language?” Jon asked.

    “Listen.” Herian said.

    They stood in the middle of the forest, the place of power dulled now that its energy had been drawn on. Jon felt a hum in his bones, following through his body down into the ground. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, he could feel magic seeping up from the ground back into him, an endless cycle.

    “It feels nice, comes from the ground.” Jon said slurry slightly and Herian nodded. Jon could feel her through the earth. She felt like a blizzard, raw power barely contained, there was some sickness inside of her that he didn't understand. It felt like a beast clawing at her insides one moment, then a tame companion the next.

    Herian spoke softly. “Don't get lost, come back to yourself. Places like this are rich in magic and of the nice kind, different places will feel different. Be careful when you do this, in places were bad things have happened, death, murder, treason, rape all the ill will of man will effect the magic of the land. Getting lost in such places will be much less comfortable than here.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, sending a burst of her own magic through it.

    Jon's eyes snapped open and he jumped away from her breaking contact. “What was that?” He grabbed his hand, it almost felt burned.

    “My magic, while I am in tune with the magic of this land, I only absorb the energy it provides. Then convert it within me to be my magic, as you have noticed its.” She rubbed the back of her head and gave that half smile she did when looking for a word. “Wilder.”

    “It hurt.” Jon said looking at his unmarred hand.

    “Sorry, nature of the beast. You are still adapting to your magic, mine will be a bit much for you for a while yet. But you are back to yourself now?” The elf asked.

    “Yeah.” Jon said and picked up the fallen bow.

    “Then we shall look for a leshen totem, it will look like a shrine with a deer's head at the top. When we find it we are going to smash it, that will draw the leshen to us. Come here.” Herian held out her hands. “Grasp my forearms and we'll see if we can't speed this hunt up. It’s already noon.”

    While Jon was hesitant after begin shocked he was much too curious to let that stop him. Shouldering the bow he gasped her forearms and felt for lack of a better word, yanked out of his body.

    Then they were in the earth, spirits flying along the roots of tree for guidance. Then up into the sky to soar above the trees. But another force held him tight, kept him safe. Jon looked over at Herian's spirit he assumed, she was a massive golden wolf in the root then when she pulled him up with her, she became a dragon. The dragon looked strange it was small and would flicker into the wolf shape often, then he realized they were one and the same. It was unsettled prone to change, one minute it was a wolf grinning wildly as it raced over the ground, the next a dragon aching to soar. The Stark turned his gaze to himself, he was a blue wolf, he could see his great big blue paws like a pup. To the left he felt a pulse of magic, then he was pulling Herian with him as he sprung free from the earth. Their spirit forms came to a stop before the Leshen totem.

    A weathered deer head crowned a spine, with two human arms bending from the neck of the totem to the middle of the spine. Jon pulled his eyes away from and looked around, they were not to far from the place of power, under a great oak tree. There was a sharp tug behind his navel and he was back in his body, eyes snapping open.

    Herian smiled at him much more softly then usually, it even reached the red violet pools of her eyes. Jon marveled gazing into them for a moment, he had never seen a red to match them, brighter then blood yet to dark to be a flame. Then there was something about that violet, something that made him feel safe.

    “Nicely done.” The elf said, her voice a deep hum.

    “Can we do it again?” Jon asked grinning silly.

    Herian laughed. “Yes, you can do that as often as you want. But remember what I said about places of people, it won't always be like that.” She released his arms. “Come on then little wolf, lead the way.” She gestured towards the northeast.

    “I want to run.” Jon said.

    “Then run.”

    Jon took off like a bolt, Herian laughed and kept pace with him.

    Jon never felt so alive before, he felt an endurance that he would have never dreamed off. With each step he could feel the energy flowing into him, the forest humming around him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Herian peel off to the side to run up a fallen log then leap into the tree. She kept pace with him, leaping and swinging from one tree to the next. Laughing with glee all the while. Only jumping back down to meet him with a roll when they arrived at the totem.

    The elf looked up into the tree then said. “Here is the plan.” She pointed to some bushes fifty paces away. “You will hide there and fill the thing full of arrows, if it get within thirty feet of you run away. Flank, turn tail and flee up to you, don't let it get close. It will draw roots up from the ground and keep you in place. I will be up in the tree, as it moves towards you I will leap from the tree and drive my sword through its skull. Sound good?” Herian asked.

    “Yes. Why didn't you do this when you fought it before?” Jon asked innocently.

    The elf smiled and walked over to the totem. “I'm not fast enough in this armour, had I remained in it, it would have slowed me down and the Leshen would have rooted me. All the fire magic in the world wouldn't have helped at that point and I had to worry about the Direwolf mother. Speed was more important, now we fight on our terms.” With that she smashed the totem and climbed up the tree.

    Jon took off for his hiding stop, made sure he was well hidden and sat to wait.

    Thankfully they didn't have to wait long, within half an hour the Leshen came lumbering into the clearing. Jon tried to keep his eyes popping out of his head. It was shaped vaguely like a man, its skin was rough bark and it had a deer skull for a head. It stood over ten feet tall with moss hanging over its shoulders, long sharp wooden fingers stained red with blood.

    Jon drew the bow back as he knelt in the bush and fired.

    The black arrow struck the creature square in the shoulder and it screamed! A harsh sound, crows plummeted from the air and clawed and Jon’s skin, he dove from his covered and fired again. This arrow struck the Leshens thigh and the monster started to lumber towards him, he could see fire scorch it, but it didn't get far before going out. The crows swarmed him and he lost sight of the monster, there was another blood curdling scream and the crows fled.

    He watched as Herian stood atop the Leshens shoulder, and drove her black blade into its head. It fell with a thundering crash, the elf riding it down. She jumped from its shoulder and landed with a tumbling roll.

    Jon sprinted over and looked down at the monster. “Wow, that worked.”

    Herian chuckled and put a foot on the Leshens head and pulled her blade out with some difficulty. “Never underestimate team work.” She grabbed it by its head and hacked it from the rest of the body. Hosting the strange deer bone head up she said. “There now you have a trophy to show your father. After all, I wouldn't have been able to do it without your help.” That was a minor lie but Jon needed a confidence boost, so she felt it wouldn't hurt; plus he really did make it much easier.

    Smirking, Herian threw the mutilated head at the young Stark with a small toss. The revolting prize flew through the air and made its way to the boy’s hands. It took a bit of fumbling, the head was soaked in blood from its decapitation, but Jon eventually held his ‘prize’ with a tired sigh.

    “Are you alright?” She asked.

    “Just scratches.” Jon said putting a hand to his face, it came back bloody.

    “I can heal them if you want, I should have thought of the crows, sorry.”

    “Its fine, you got the monster before they could really hurt me. What now?” Jon asked. He stuffed the Leshen’s head into a small sack tried to his belt. It was meant for small animals, like a rabbit or things like it, but it would do. 

Mostly.

    “Now.” Herian pulled one of the small knives from her back. “You get your first lesson in alchemy and monster gutting.”

    The elf grabbed the Leshens shoulder and flipped it over with a heave. “So on a leshen, the useful bits are, the bark, blood and heart.” She pulled her bag of off her shoulder and pulled out a number of vials. Popping one open she started to crave wood off of the creatures sternum. “The bark can be used to create a potion that will make your skill like wood, more resistant to cutting and cold.” After she had filled her vial, she flipped the blade over and cut deep into its chest, then dug her hands into the cut and pulled it open. With a little purple light flickered, with expert grace she pulled it from the Leshen and put it into another vial then held it up for Jon to view better. “This is what we call essence, unlike the bark it is inherently magical. It can be used in a potion or crafted into an item, this one.” She closed her eyes and focused on the little piece of magic. “Would increase the flow of magic to the user.” Lastly she cut into the leshens' arm and let the green blood flow into yet another vial before cleaning and putting all her equipment away. “Any questions?”

    Jon opened his mouth, and closed it again. _'Far too many to count.'_ The boy thought as he glanced down at the rather mutilated corpse of the Leshen and then back to Herian. Various vials of even more strange substances now rested in her bag. Fluids, bits torn from the monster's body for a purpose the lad was still trying to wrap his head around. Honestly, it was rather mind boggling.

    To try and hide his confusion, Jon shook his head and tried to focus on a question. "Given the trouble this thing gave you before, how do you know just what its...fluids will do for you in whatever it is you will be making?"

    “It’s not the first Leshen I've fought, just the first one to get the better of me. They usually a bit smaller, I've only got to experiment with their bits once before. So I gather the useful parts now and will hold onto them, then make something when I have a better idea of what I will need.” She pulled the arrows from its hide and offered them to Jon.

    "Ah." Jon muttered and put the arrows away while trying not to think about other creatures like this one in the forest. He would have to pay more attention during his strolls to the forest now. Gods know no one should have to deal with one of these monsters whilst unaware.

    "Right. Least this is taken care of. And you even have some supplies now, not something you could have found back at the castle, that's for sure."

    Herian chuckled with a shrug. “Aye, but you never know. Do you wish to hunt for more mundane prey?” She sniffed the air. “There is a boar coming this way, I think your father and the King might be chasing it though. And there is a deer a ways off to the east.”

    Jon looked up, surprised, "Lord Stark and the King?"

    The kid hadn't been aware that they were so close. He knew that his Father and the King would be hunting that day, but thought it would be much farther off. The party Robb, uncle Benjen, Jory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik and even the Imp he had heard were riding out today. He was a little bitter that he had not been invited but he was a bastard. Still, now was not the time to wallow in how unfair life was. Jon closed his eyes and thought for a moment, "Hm. Given that he is with the King, I would not want to intrude on my father's hunt. Perhaps we should try to find something else lurking around, as you said."

    “As you wish.” She grabbed the Leshen by the arm and hauled it around to the far side of the tree and arranged it to look like more roots. “Best keep this out of sight for now.”

    “Good idea, I don't think the King and his people would be able to wrap their minds around it.” Jon said still working on wrapping his own brain around it, but bit by bit he was getting there. The hum from the forest helped in that regard.

    “Keep the bow for now, I want to see how you hunt. Your stride has improved a great deal from when we started.” The elf started eastward, steps turning silent, body lowered to the ground.

    Jon followed suit, this stealth thing was new to him but he could appreciate it. It was interesting to see more of the wildlife that would usually hide from humans. Birds, squirrels, all manner of small animal. They walked silently for a few minutes, then could hear the sound of dogs and the hunting horn.

    Herian gestured for him to sink lower to the ground as they hid among the ferns.

    The black haired boy watched as a boar went crashing through the brush north of them, the hunt fast on its trail. Already he could appreciate Herians' style of hunting more, it didn't scare off all the prey. The elf tapped him on the shoulder and pointed.

A stag came thundering their way, startled by the hunt. Jon drew and fired, the stag went down with a thunk.

“Nice shot.” Herian said as they walked over to there kill, again Herian pulled out the arrow and Jon put it back in the quiver.  The elf grabbed the deer by the front legs and heaved it over her shoulder.

    Jon starred. “Isn’t it heavy?”

    Herian grimaced and pushed the deer onto her shoulder a bit more firmly. “A bit,” The stag was bigger than the woman. “but I'll manage.”

    Jon nodded and they started back the way they had come, marveling at the song of the forest. Animals scampered in the distance. Winds drifted through the vast tree-lines, a breeze shifting through the leaves that sat above their heads. The soft crackling of dirt underneath their feet filled the duo’s ears, all whilst the made their way back down the path they had arrived from.

    The trip was a long one of course, hours drifted past like a summer breeze. The rays of the sun disappeared behind the treeline as its bright light shifted into an orange glow. Air became chilled and Jon rubbed his hands together to keep harm. Through the forest, the shadows became more pronounced, sending chills down the young Stark’s back.

    Against the dark vastness of the forest, Jon cast his gaze to the side briefly, again and again. It was as if somewhere, something was keeping watch. The bleak, specs of light in the distance were like eyes, several, hundreds of little orbs burning into the back of his skull. During their journey, the young Stark felt his hand twitch at his side, toward the bow and a fresh arrow.

    At odds to the boy’s uncertainty, Herian merely marched on without a hint of hesitation. The deer’s carcass remained draped over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Even still, the elf smiled at the soft echoes she heard in the distance.

    To one it was an unknown, and to another; it was a familiar sound, like an old friend.

    After several hours of walking, the endless stretch of trees, bushes, and leaves gave way to a stone pathway, stuck in-between two seconds of forest on either side. Gone was the soft dirt and mud of the forest. Jon let out a relieved sigh. Down the long twisted road, a massive stone structure appeared just beyond the massive forest, just beyond the sea of trees.

 The massive stone walls, sectioned by colossal chunks of grey stone. Atop the gigantic structure were guards, the setting sun shining off their worn and aged armour. At the end of the twisting path Jon and Herian, there stood a large, imposing gate with two men standing guard. It had only been a few hours and yet? The boy almost felt as if he had been gone for a year.

    Herian chuckled, “Happy to be home lad?”

    “Alarmingly so.” Jon muttered, he didn’t even waste the effort to hide it, “I’m not even sure I could be so relieved to see these walls again, and yet here I am, almost aching for my bed.”

    Despite slightly lagging behind the boy, the elf couldn’t resist from smirking. “Ah, well don’t get too excited. I figured that walking in with this beast might draw some looks.”

    Jon’s shoulders slumped. “Do you think we might avoid that for now?”

    There were many ways he could describe the hunt. It was enlightening, disturbing, violent, and quite bloody. Especially with Herian’s brief lesson on the innards of a Leshen. Out of all though, Jon could honestly say it was exhausting. He could barely feel his feet, there had to be blisters underneath his boots. Perhaps the Ranger knew of a way to easily sneak past some of the uncertain gazes. With all her tricks and potions, there had to be something that could make the trip less bothersome.

    Speaking of the elf, Herian shifted the deer atop her shoulders and raised one of her hands. “That, may be harder than one would expect.”

    Confused for a brief moment, Jon swiftly found himself with his answer.

    Whilst she still had the animal’s corpse atop her shoulders, the elf managed to lift one of her arms and pointed toward the main courtyard of the massive fortress. Said yard was massive in scale and often had at least one or two people, often guards, walking through it at any given time.

    Now however, to call the yard ‘crowded’ would be nothing short than a drastic understatement. From the castle’s gate, one could see a literal horde of people standing just outside the main entrance to the main building. Guards, servants, and nobles stood around the main doors, talking and chatting whilst the sun set in the distance.

    Having just arrived, Jon could barely believe his eyes. The boy rubbed his tired gaze and checked to see if he was imagining things. But whilst his gaze turned blurry, the echoing chatter did not fade into the distance.

     “What is going on?” he muttered, flabbergasted.

    Herian smirked at the boy’s dumbstruck expression. Yet, she wasn’t done. Whilst Jon continued to look on, the elf focused her gesture and directed the boy’s eyes to the very center of the crowd’s attention. The point the mass of people had positioned themselves around.

    Slowly, Jon narrowed his eyes and drew his attention to focus on where she had pointed to. Once the boy saw what she was directing him towards however, the young Stark raised his own hand and rubbed his eyes.

    “Of course,” he grumbled, “Why did I not see this first?”

    At the very center of the crowd were about a dozen people each had their own steads. Many were dressed like the guards of the castle, armed and standing at attention. But two of the figures stood out, and for good reason.

Lord Stark and the King were at the very heart of the crowd, having returned from their own hunt long before Jon and Herian had made their return. It was almost baffling in some respects. The young boy was certain he and the elf had left long before his father had if their close call in the forest was to be believed. Yet there they were, amongst a crowd of people marveling at quite the successful outing.

    Whilst Jon stared with a wide gaze, Herian stepped forward and gave the boy a slight nudge.

    “Do you still think we’ll be able to sneak past without being noticed?”

    Jon turned to look at her, yet silence was all that came about.

    Upon placing one foot into the courtyard, the duo found the peaceful tranquillity of the forest to be a thing of the past. Loud voices assaulted their ears like war drums. Men and women chatted amongst themselves, blissfully unaware of how loud they were being. Jon swiftly found himself missing the silence of the forest, how it seemed to whisper in his ear without hesitation. Here felt different not bad but more chaotic and temporary. Herian pulled her hood up and raised scarf to cover her mouth.

    As the elf and young lad marched their way into the confines of the massive fortress, their presence did not go unnoticed for long. Both eyes and ears turned to the sound of new arrivals, but many were unprepared for what stood in front of them.

    Both the Lord of House Stark and the King himself turned to the sound of new arrivals, and yet stopped at what they saw. The King felt his jaw drop whilst Ned bit back a slight chuckle. “Well, that certainly explains where you two have been.”

    In front of King, the Lord, and their onlookers, Jon and Herian stood with their catch in front of all for them to see. Unlike the King’s party, the duo had their catch not tied to the back of a horse or carried by others as they returned. The only thing that kept the dead deer from rotting on the ground was the elf herself. She supported the massive beast across her rather small shoulders despite the strain it would have caused any other man.

    It defied expectations, and yet their eyes did not lie. It was late into the afternoon and any feeling of a hangover had long since drifted away with the thrill of a good hunt.

    The King was at a loss for words. “Well, I’ll be.”

    Ned, whilst equally as shocked, said nothing on the matter. Instead, he merely looked on with amusement as Herian approached. The crowd quickly parted out of the way, allowing the Ranger to easily stroll towards her lord without trouble despite the mighty weight atop her shoulders.

    “My Thane.” She greeted, “It seems as if you’ve had quite the prosperous hunt.”

    Ned nodded. “That we had. Though from where I am standing, it seems as if that should be my line.”

    Raising a brow, the elf shot a look at the beast atop her shoulders. Even after hours of walking, she could still smell the fresh scent of the kill and the blood that leaked from Jon’s mark. It made her inner wolf hungry, that said it also made it easier to carry, with her wolf so close to her skin.

    Even still, to merely add to the absurdity of the sight before everyone’s eyes, Herian shrugged her shoulders and rolled her neck. “Oh, this? A good catch if I were to say. The lad managed to befall the beast quite swiftly. We had hoped to find something of a bit more substance, but this seemed to do good enough.”

    Once more, an awkward silence filled the air. The massive deer had to be at three times her size and yet, small was it? For a creature such as that, many of the North’s hunters would not often consider it small by any means.

    Needless to say, many were at a loss of words.

    Ned, thankfully, was not one of them. He was starting to get a feel for Herian’s theatrics for he was sure this was just that. A show for the eyes upon them. “So you say.” He kept the smile that threatened his lips away. Shifting his gaze from the Ranger and her prey, Ned turned his gaze toward the young lad that walked behind her. Whilst most were focused on Herian and the massive creature she held. Jon silently approached from behind, almost a background noise to the crowd’s attention.

    “So, this was your kill?” Ned asked.

    At the sudden question, Jon blinked. The lad lifted his gaze from the dirt, its ‘favourite spot’ as he walked through the crowd, and turned to his father. Unprepared, he glanced at his bow, the memories of the event drifting to the forefront of his mine. “It was.”

    “A fine mark.” Ned complimented. “I see but one wound on the beast. I never knew you had such a skill with a bow.”

    Jon fidgeted in place, not used to such praise, “To be honest, neither had I. I just assume that it was a lucky shot, is all.”

    At this son’s words, Ned pulled back his head and let loose a mighty laugh, “Luck? Don’t be so coy. Luck would be nailing the beast as if tried to flee. That would be luck.”

    The Head of House Stark stepped forward and placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “You made a fine kill. Don’t wave it off as something as trivial as luck.”

    Jon lowered his gaze, unable to meet his father’s own. Reluctance aside though, the boy managed a small smile. He nodded, as small as it might have been. Behind him, Harien’s smirk went unnoticed, it was nice when a plan came together.

    “Of course.”

    Ned smiled, a larger one than his son. The Stark patted the lad across his shoulders, “Very good. Now that you’re here though, seems like a good of a time as any for my decision.”

    Now Jon just blinked. “Decision?”

    The larger of the Starks nodded once more. Releasing the young lad, Ned turned in place and turned his attention back to the crowd, the king included. The horde of onlookers once more focused on Winterfell’s lord, almost having forgotten about the two new arrivals. 

    Unbeknownst to them, Jon sighed with relief while the elf shook her head.

    “As the news of our return might be on the minds of all of you, there is a much more pressing matter to attend to.” He told the crowd, his voice echoing amongst the large sum of people.

    Ned turned to the king, “Your majesty, earlier you asked of me a rather important question. A request upon me that you were quite intent on getting an answer for. So much that you hounded me more than this beast.” Off to the side, Ned gestured toward a large corpse. Laid across the ground, top a large wheel barrow was the carcass of a massive boar. Jon recognized from the one he and Herian had nearly stumbled upon. Seems his father and the King had been successful in their hunt as well.

    Near the beast, the King, Robert Baratheon frowned at his friend’s choice of words. Though he couldn’t hide a small chuckle either, “I don’t remember being that direct with you.”

    “That might have been the booze talking then, but I remember. But after such a prosperous outing, I think I have made my decision.”

    Robert raised a brow, as did many of those present. Jon looked confused whilst Herian crossed her arms. She just had to hear this, if for the reactions alone.

    “Have you now?”

    The Stark nodded, “I have.”

    In the company of dozens of men, women, servants, and guards. Those he knew and cared for, and those he had not but trust in, Ned turned to everyone and gave a healthy nod. 

    “As per the King’s request, I shall take the position so generously offered.” He explained. “If his majesty shall have me, than by my honor, I will become your right hand. The King’s Hand, to defend and protect you for as long as you’d require.”

    In front of the crowd, his family, and his own home, Ned turned to the King and bowed. Gasps and shocked expressions filled the air. Most, if not all of those who watched found themselves stunned to silence. Jon’s jaw nearly fell, lost for words. The King’s face lit up in a massive gin, his cheeks puffing out with joy. The guards looked on proudly, their weapons clutched in their hands. 

    At the very back end of the crowd, the deer still across her shoulders, Herian looked on.

    For several minutes, no one spoke. There were no words, no shouts, no whispers, and no roars. The crowd looked frozen, locked in place as if they were statues across the top of the wall. Then, after what seemed like an endless silence, the quiet, chilling soundless atmosphere…

    It shattered.

    Roars of applause echoed out like a thunderous explosion. Applause shook the courtyard as subject’s voices echoed into the sky. The residents of Winterfell were louder than cannon fire, shaking the landscape well beyond the borders of the castle walls. 

    Kng Robert laughed heartily. 

    The massive man stepped forward with arms wide and a massive grin on his face. Though exhausted from the day’s events, the king could not keep his joy from showing. He looked almost as if he was in bliss!

    “Grand! Just Grand! Ned my friend! You have no idea how happy this makes me.” He chuckled.

    Ned almost rolled his eyes. “No, I am quite sure that I have an idea of that, my king.”

    “Ah, so so. But that means even more to me! Such a decision calls for much! We have much to celebrate. Drinks all around! There is no time like the present!”

The Stark raised a brow, “Robert, don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink already? I was almost sure you were considering postponing our hunt earlier because your head hurt?”

    The king waved his hand, “Ah, was but a minor irritation. Can’t let that stop me now.” Still laughing, Robert turned to the crowd and waved his arms to all those present, “Everyone! Everyone! Inside. There shall be refreshments for all! Come no, come now! My treat!”

Once more, cheers exploded forth from the crowd, like a second volley of arrows piercing the sky. It was enough to shake Jon from his stupor, as well as make Herian laugh at how easily the crowd had been worked up. It was like waving a piece of meat in front of a hungry dog’s face.

“I am unsure how much I appreciate you starting another feast after last nights. I believe our kitchens are already half empty from then.” Ned said to Robert.

“Ah, then I’ll send out for more!” The King replied. “Come now, don’t be such a wet blanket. There must be some celebration! Today, if any day!”

Ned shook his head with a sigh. As much as he would have liked to argue with his friend’s choice of words, he knew that look. The cheerful expression in his eyes, the laugh in his gut, there was little that could be done. The King had made up his mind, and as much as a goof he could be, there wasn’t much that could change his mind after that.

With no other objections, Robert let out another laugh and directed everyone to follow him inside. The other members of the hunting party quickly got to work dragging the boar away, likely towards the kitchen whilst everyone else swiftly followed the King inside. 

One of them offered to take the deer carcass from Herian, but she respectfully refused. She could handle it herself. The crowd swiftly began piling into the main structure, one after another. Ned followed suit as well, though stopped just short of the main door.

As others passed him, the Stark turned in place and glanced over his shoulder. He spotted Jon, standing near where the crowd had once been. Upon his face, the boy’s expression was hard to spot, though reluctance was there. The boy remembered how his last attendance to the King’s festivities. The cold chill of the late night winds crossed his mind once more.  Before he could lament on the mistakes of the previous night, a sudden snap caught his attention. Jon looked up and saw his father. 

Many men and women passed the Stark by as they entered the building but he paid them no mind. Instead, Ned raised an arm and gestured the boy to follow. There was no order, no demand, but instead a smile. A single, warm smile upon the man’s bearded face.

    Jon blinked his eyes wide as can be. For a moment, he stood still, feet unresponsive to the rest of his body. Yet after a good long look at his father’s face, the boy smiled.

    As Ned stood there, Jon slowly walked over and the two Starks made their way inside.

    And all during the commotion, Herian stood back. She watched as the courtyard emptied, the guests, the servants, the guards. Even her thane and his son, they all piled into the structure, their loud voices disappearing into the massive structure as they chatted with one another. The elf smirked at the commotion and shook her head.

    “Always so noisy. But, fun is fun.”

 

* * *

 

    Inside the colossal structure, the halls of Wintefell became a thunderous echo of chatter and laughter. The main hall became littered with people. Drinks were passed around haphazardly and food was brought out from the kitchen. It was no feast, not yet anyway, but the foundations were already being prepared. 

    King Robot laughed amongst a small crowd of his pears, laughing joyfully. He entertained many with tales of the hunt that took place hours before, though with the King’s own personal flair. Exaggerations or not, the men and woman laughed alongside the King.

    Far across the main hall, the Starks entertained themselves, though in a much more reserved manner. There were less loud, bombastic yelling and wine flying from their cups.

    During the festivities, Jon stood nearby, a cup in hand and a small smile on his face. In the rush of things he had yet to remove his hunting attire, even the bow strapped to the back of his belt. It didn’t bother the lad in the slightest however, in fact, he barely even noticed.

    _‘So this is what it’s like…’_ He mused to himself. 

    If not for the rude actions of a rather important person, Jon imagined that this is what he had missed the previous night. The laughs, the smiling, the joyous tales spoken in the background, all of it made the air feel alive, almost brimming with cheer.

    Whilst Jon stood off to the side though, someone briefly passed the young lad and bumped into him. The lad stumbled forward as apologizes were traded, but as the man departed, the young Stark felt something large and round bounce off his back.

    Reaching back, the boy swiftly grabbed the object. As he did, Jon’s eyes widened. “Oh right.” Across Jon’s back was a large burlap sack, stretched to its limits by whatever was held inside. The bag itself was small but pressed outward by something within it. Something wet, damp, and rather hard. Realization struck Jon like a rather hard smack to the side of his head. He placed his cup on a nearby table, removed the strap from around his shoulder and held the sack between his hands. The ‘trophy’ from the hunt. In the commotion, Jon had completely forgotten about it.

    “Ah, remembered that, have you?”

    Jon snapped his head up and bit back a gasp. Among the loud and numerous voices that filled the air, one pierced through the loud echoes and almost whispered into his ear. It was not an unfamiliar voice, but was one that startled the lad all the same.

    “Wha-when did?!” He stuttered. 

    Herian was leaning against a nearby column, arms crossed and hood over her head, helm hiding her features. The elf had both arms crossed over her chest and a small smile on her face. Gone was the deer from her shoulders, not even a hint of it was left.

    Not even the scent. 

    Gazing at the elf, Jon let his shoulders slump. The Stark rubbed the side of his face and let out a long, drawn out sigh. “You, really, really need to stop doing that. You hear?”

    “Hm, perhaps. But, maybe you should be more aware of your surroundings, or the thing you have strapped to your back, perhaps?”

    Jon opened his mouth to rebuttal such a claim, but swiftly shut it. Embarrassed, Jon glanced down at the blood soaked bag in his hands and sighed. He could still barely believe that he had forgotten such a thing. It was right next to him throughout the whole trip! Hell, his coat was surely soaked with green blood by this point.

    Herian’s smirk did not make things any better though.

    “Perhaps, I should go throw this in my quarters. Better to have it there rather than here, where someone might accidentally look in it and faint in shock.”

    Given the amount of booze that was going around, Jon had hopes that would be the best outcome if someone accidentally stumbled upon the bag. The worst though? He’d rather not think about it.

    The elf shrugged. “A good decisions. But, I would think my Thane should see it first before that.”

    “My father? Why?”

    Herian pushed herself off the pillar and gave the youth a shrug. “It will do him comfort to know that such a beast no longer hunts the woods so close to his home. And with it dead by our hands, it would go even further to prove my stories to him.”

    “And you think transforming in front of he and myself wasn’t enough?” Jon deadpanned.

    Again, the elf shrugged, “You cannot have to much proof. Now, what do you say?”

    Once more, Jon grew silent. He looked down at the sack in his hand. Through the damp burlap he felt the distinct shape of the Leshen’s head, soaked in its own blood and surely just as ugly as it had been a few hours ago. 

    The Ranger’s points were there, and deep inside himself, Jon had another to make. Proof was easily shown with the creature’s head, the woods were not safe of its savage nature, and whilst his father had not seen the deep, inner beauty of the forest, the creature’s head would make due. Perhaps, knowing that his son, bastard or not had helped such an accomplishment would come to place the young lad even deeper into his father’s graces. “Okay, I’ll go fetch him.”

    Herian smirked and waved one of her fingers in front of Jon’s face, “Ah, no need. I know just where he’d be. Just wait here and I shall fetch my Thane.”

    Pressing forward, Jon watched as the elf drew her hood across her head and ventured into the massive crowd. Without her there, the young Stark was once more left by himself. Well, himself and the decapitated head of a Leshen that was resting in a sack of its own bloody fluids. 

    “Well,” He grumbled. “this is pleasant.”

    For several moments, Jon simply stood with the bag in hand and waited for his ‘teacher’s’ return. The sudden party continued in the background, voices echoing against the large ceiling of the main chamber. It was loud, many people talking at once like a constant blowing of the wind outside. For the lad’s sake, it helped take his mind off the eventuality of opening the sack in his father’s presence. _‘Oh lord, don’t let him have had too much to drink. This thing was gruesome enough when it was alive, I’d hate to see it’s revolting face now, while tipsy.’_ As the disgusting hope simmered in Jon’s head, a familiar pair emerged from the crowd and left it behind. Stealthily as always, Herian approached the youth’s solitary corner at the end of the chamber with Ned in tow. 

    The Lord of the house looked amused as he followed his new familiar. He held a drink in hand and looked rather curious as to what Herian had to show him. It was not often that the elf would reveal herself in public and drag him away as she did. Had to either be very important, or she simply could not contain herself and just had to get him to see something. Ned chuckled and took a sip of his drink.If he was a betting man, he surely would have placed a bit of gold on the second option.

    Across the massive hall, the pair walked up to Jon without much issue. The other partiers were too enthralled in their own tales and goings on to even notice the two. Jon figured Herian might have been the cause of that. 

    When he finally arrived within earshot of his son, Ned brought his drink to his mouth and gave Jon a nod. “Lad, as fun as the endless stories the King seems to have, I was told you had something you wanted to speak to me about?”

    The young Stark let out a sigh. He spared the elf a look but there was no help there. The Ranger seemed to have the need to get things rolling without even giving the boy a chance to make small talk. Might as well, would have been hard to think of something that could lead into this. Sparing the burlap sack a glance, Jon shook his head at his father, “Yes, there is. Though, would you mind us having it in a more private place? Somewhere with less prying eyes and ears that could have a habit of listening in?”

    Ned raised a brow. “Some privacy?”

    The newly crowned Hand of the King glanced over his shoulders at the crowd. He spared a moment to listen in on the constant talking and gibberish that engulfed the hall. So many people with so many voiced, chattering without a care in the world. After a moment, Ned shrugged. “Why not? Would be better to have at least something that doesn’t spread across the hall like wildfire.”

    Jon let loose a sigh of relief. His fingers stopped shaking, somewhat at least, and the bag between the boy’s hands felt just a bit lighter for the time being. Swallowing his breath, the young Stark glanced over his shoulder. Less than a few feet from where the three stood was a long hallway. Cobblestone and a few torches lined the passage, likely a path towards a deeper portion of the castle. Far out of the way, and a nice spot for some words. Jon poked his head at the hall’s direction and stepped toward it. Ned and Herian shared a glance with one another and without a word followed him. The two Starks and single elf marched out of the main hall of the keep and strolled down one of Winterfell’s numerous halls. 

    As they walked, the sounds and echoes of the main chamber vanished by the wayside. The laughter, the cheering, the stories, and drunken mumbling all slowly disappeared the further the trio made their way into the long hallway. Eventually, there was but soft mumbling in the distance. Of the three, the elf could still hear the bombastic laughter of the King, but paid it no mind.

    By her eyes, they were alone. Finally.

    A sentiment that Ned shared as well, “I think this is far enough. No one around for a good while.”

    The lord once again looked to his son. “If you have something to show me, now seems to be the best of times I think.”

    Jon looked up at the man in front of him. Slowly, the boy glanced back down at the sack. Hesitation crawled up the young lad’s arms like the chill of winter making itself known. The sack was still damp, and the coppery tinge of blood filled the air.

    After what seemed like a good few minutes, Jon turned his gaze to the Ranger, the person who claimed this ‘trophy’ in the first place. If there was anyone who should tell his father, than it likely would have been her.

    Herian met his gaze, but shook her head. The elf crossed her arms and gave the lad a single look. It wasn’t a stern glare or anything of the sort. Instead, Jon almost felt as if he had been nudged forward. There was little way out of this it seemed. Swallowing as much confidence as he could muster, the Stark glanced down at his hands one last time and muttered. “That it is.”

    Jon lifted the bloodied sack up and pushed it forward. With his father watching, the lad parted his hands and reached toward the very top of the sack. At the very peak of the bloodied tarp of burlap was a haste-fully tied piece of rope. It too was soaked and blood, and looked to be barely holding on.

    With but a tug, the young Stark undid the knot. The piece of rope fell to the ground in a wet, sloppy splat. By Ned’s eyes, he watched as Jon slowly and rather gruesomely pulled the sack down around whatever it contained. Every tug was followed by another wet, squishy slap, and the scent of blood filled the air more than the kitchen when a big was freshly slaughtered.

    It took but a moment, yet felt like an hour, but eventually the bag fell to the ground as well. The green burlap sack hit the ground as the knot did, with a wet splat. The cobblestone became drenched in blood, smelling more of copper than the forge itself did.

    Jon spoke up. “We went on a hunt this morning, as did you. But while you and his majesty hunted a boar. We were looking for what hurt Herian.”

    In the middle of one of Winterfell’s halls, in between the hands of one of its lord’s sons was a gruesome, disgusting sight. A head, larger than a human and covered with far more blood than was necessary. Its neck was sliced and chopped, pieces of meat still hanging down from the bloody deed. At first glance it appeared to be a the skull deer in nature; remains of horns could be seen atop its matted head along with the basic shape of such a creature. Ned only needed one glance at the remains to know however, that such was not the case. Not in the least.

    As the blood soaked Jon’s hands, Herian spoke up. “When I first awoke, I told you of a creature that killed those pup’s mother and left me to die in that river. It was a Leshen, a spirit of the forest and now, there is one less roaming around the trees near your castle.”

    Ned was silent, speechless for a moment or two. “This, this is what you were telling me about?”

    Standing next to her Thane, the Ranger crossed her arms and nodded. “Down to the bone. When Jon and I encountered it, the creature still had some of the wounds from our previous scrap. It had recovered since then, but the scars were there.”

    The Stark nodded dumbly. He had to take her word on that. Having just the head made checking for scars rather difficult, and there was enough blood there to begin with.“I see. Then, the morning you two spent was for hunting this thing down and not hunting that deer you brought back here?”

    Again, Herian nodded. “More or less. That creature just so happened to stumble upon us right after we had killed this one. Poor thing, it had no idea of what it had found. And had even less of one when it received an arrow between its eyes.”

    “That was a good idea, a good cover for this.” Ned narrowed his eyes. He took a good look at the decomposing head, or at least as close as he would have preferred. Dead men were one thing, but such a creature was revolting to the eyes more so than the most decayed of corpses. Ned made a note regarding hunting parties and warning them about some headless creature that COULD be in the forest somewhere. Doubt they’d listen, but at least they’d have his warning.

    The Stark took a step back, set down his drink and rubbed his eyes. The urge to simply pour out his drink was there, but he had a feeling he’d need it in a few minutes. “I would say this is good news. That thing, can’t help but feel like I could have used a bit of warning though when you dragged me over here.”

    Herian smirked, “Well, I wanted it to be a surprise.”

    “No more surprises then. They’re bad for my heart.”

    The Ranger smirked. “Oh you will learn I very much enjoy surprises. Oh, by the way, how would you like to know about a Leshen’s heart when we’re on the subject? I already went over it with Jon, and it does have many uses!”

    Whilst Herian shot a near shit eating grin at his father, Jon lowered the Leshen’s head and let out a sigh. Much to his relief, showing Ned the creature’s head had gone much better than he had imagined. Though knowing him, the lad couldn’t imagine his father reacting any worse to such a thing.

    He was the Lord of House Stark for a reason, aside his blood. 

Lowering his hands, Jon glanced at the decapitated head for a moment, _‘Well then, what should I do with you know-‘_

“EDDARD!”

    Though the stone lidded hall the three found themselves in, a sudden shout echoed down the hallway like a banshee’s scream. Jon’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt, and whatever grin Herian had at the moment dropped from her face. Even Ned, uncomfortable as he was, turned around.

    Ranger, father, and son all turned their attention toward one of the ends of the hall. Much to their surprise, it was not the end that had led back to the main hall and the party brewing inside. Instead, the shout came from the opposite end of the hall.

    From the other end, came not a random drunkard, shouting to the heavens for some ungodly reason that only another drunkard could understand.

    Jon blinked. “Lady Stark?”

    Ned’s wife, and the Lady of House Stark came running from the opposite end of the hall, her every step sending an echo through the stone pathway in a hurry. She rushed toward the group, running as if she was being chased by hell itself.

    As she finally reached the trio, Catelyn rushed right by Jon, paying him no mind at all. Instead, the woman rushed right up to her husband, her expression not even close to the cold, indifferent aloofness that many had come to know the woman for. What the three saw instead, was terror. Shear, unrivaled terror.

    “Catelyn. What is it? What is wrong?” Ned reached out to steady his wife.

    For a moment, Lady Stark stood there, her voice but a series of gasps and huffs. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire, and her shoulders shook like tree branches in the heaviest of storms. Despite her exhaustion, Catelyn raised her trembling arms and grabbed her husband’s chest. Her grip was tight, almost deathly so. Ned felt her nails through the heavy hide of his coat.

    “C-come, now. I, I need you. R-right this moment-!” She gasped.

    “Why? What has happened?” Ned asked sharply.

    Catelyn looked up, her eyes meeting her husband’s own. “Its-its Bran!”

    “I, I don’t know what happened-someone found him earlier today. Outside. They think he fell from a great height, I’m-I’m not sure! But he won’t wake up! I’m not sure what to do!”

    “I need you with him, now!” She cried. “If he doesn’t wake up soon, he may die!”


	5. Healing

 Eddard at the lead as they all but ran to Brans room, when they arrived Bran was tucked in under many pelts and sleeping peacefully. Eddard ran a hand over his beard and walked to Brans side.

    “Will he be alright Luwin?” Ned asked taking his sons had.

    “Impossible to say my Lord, he fell from quite a distance. I have done the best I can.”

    Lady Stark came up to Brans other side, she looked like she was about to cry. Herian and Jon stood in the doorway. Herian tilted her head and glanced over to Jon looking him up and down.

    “Can you help?” Ned asked, his voice thick.

    Herian stepped slowly into the room and pulled her helm off, setting it on the end of the bed. Gently she hopped onto it and pressed the tips of her figures to Brans stomach.

    “What are you doing?” Lady Stark asked, hostility starting to boil.

    “Calm Cat.” Ned said and watched the elf's eyes close and her brow knit, a few blue sparks flitted from her palm into Bran.

    Herian spoke her voice harsh yet soft. “I am no healer, but I can help.” With that a large wave of blue fog flowed from the elf’s fingertips and she looked through Bran.

    Jon felt the outpouring of magic and swiftly crossed the room and knelt on the floor, after a few frantic moments of trying his spirit leapt from his body into that place of magic he had ran through earlier. Instead of running this time, he jumped up onto the bed as his spirit wolf to watch the elf work.

    Herians mind flowed through muscle and tissue followed the currents of Bran. She mended the bruising on his back, then turned her attention to his spine. She could see the broken bones, severed tendons and torn nerves. The bones would be easiest so she would start with them.

    Lord and Lady Stark as well as Master Luwin jumped when they heard loud cracks and the Maester had to hold Cat back when she reached for Bran.

    Herain first restored the pieces of the vertebrae then fortified the marrow within them. Next she turned to the nerves, oh so carefully restoring them in time with the tendons. It was long work, time lost all meaning to the elf.

    Ned watched the sweat start to gather around the elf’s brow, how her chest started to heave. He glanced over to Jon, but the look of absence on his sons face gave him the impression that no one was home.

    Jon’s blue spirit wolf softly stepped over to Herian and put his head on her shoulder, unconsciously leading her power. He felt the hot power of the elf, the dragon stir to gaze at him, before shifting its attention back to his brother.

    Only when Herian was confident that Bran would walk again did she follow his spine up to his head. Blood was swelling in his brain, there already was damage but his brain was strange to her. She pulled away to look through Jon, to view his body through the wolf at her side before returning to Bran. She carefully persuaded the blood to stop pooling, then drew the excess out from Bran.

    Lady Stark shrieked when blood seeped through Brans skin, Ned was thankfully clear enough in mind to drag a bowl to catch it as it floated above his boy.

    Herian repaired Bran’s skull and the muscles around it. His brain was now safe but she didn't dare touch it more. Slowly she pulled out of Bran and back to herself. The blue flow faded away and Herian nearly fell off the bed as she came back to herself.

    Ned saw the elf start to sway and he stepped up steadying her by her shoulders. Fatigue pulled at Herian, she wasn’t good at magic and being cut off from Atherus made it all the harder. Jon returned to his body and stood with a wobble. He sagged against the bed, it was a strange feeling to have ones energy drained without moving.

    “What was that?” He croaked his throat very dry.

    Herian reached out and grabbed his hand. “Thank you for your help, I wouldn't have been able to do anything for Brans head without you.” Herian attempted to stand on her own, only for her legs to buckle out from under her. Ned grabbed her and held her up against his chest. She was small against him so it worked rather well.

    “What did you do?” Cat looked from Bran to Herian and Jon. Then back to the elf again, she did not like the magic creature leaning on her husband. That said she didn’t like Herian at period.

    Jon looked at the elf, he could see the slight panting she was still doing.

    “We healed him Lady Stark, Herian has been teaching me a of her gifts. I saw that her strength was failing and gave her mine. I think we fixed his spine and helped his head.” Jon looked back at Herian. “Is that right?”

    The elf nodded into Ned’s shirt. “He will be able to walk, but he should take it slow. I did what I could for his brain, removed the blood pressuring it and fixed his skull.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

    “What you could?” Lady Stark asked.

    “My brain is different than yours, I used Jons as a start and only mended what I knew would not harm him. Please stop asking me questions, I am tired, I haven't used magic like that in ages. He will wake, he will be fine.” Herian couldn't help it, a very small wolven whine escaped her throat.

    “Sleep.” Ned said then pulled her hood up to hid her face and picked her up. She moved with him too tired to care about letting him carry her around. The large man looked over to Jon. “Go get some rest as well.”

    Jon nodded, put the elf’s helm on her stomach and departed.

    Ned looked over to his wife. “It will be alright Cat, I trust Herian. Give it time.” He departed from the room before his wife could wrap her head around his statement and set off for Herians small tower room. The staff cleared out of his way and he checked to make sure the elf’s skin was hidden. Thankfully it was, the King approached him.

    “What happened?” He reached for the elf.

    Ned took a step back and held her to his chest. “Please my King, she doesn't like to be touched.” Even as he thought it he got the feeling he was taking quite the liberty here.

    “Answer the question Ned.” Robert voice took on a hit of command.

    “My vassal helped Bran at a personal cost, she is confident he will be fine. Please excuse me my King, I would like to get her to her bed.” Ned stepped around the king and picked up a swift pace to her room.

    A glare from the man cleared the way, when he arrived at Herian’s room he set the elf on her bed before returning to shut and lock the door.

    “Nosy people.” He turned back to Herian, she had not stirred since he picked her up. He glanced over her armour, the grey cloth she wore to obscure it had rucked up to reveal smooth black plains. “Well sleeping in armour is not comfortable.” He walked back to the bed and started undoing the knots and broaches that held the grey cloth in place. The knots were elaborate and it took him several minutes to get through them all, but eventually he pulled the grey cloth away.

    Despite himself he ran a hand over the woman’s stomach, the armour was warm and as smooth as the finest glass. He could see it flex and relax with every breath Herian made, the plates wrapped around her body like a glove. He had never seen a design like her armour, to wrap around her hips to the small of her back, with a whole separate piece fitting down over her stomach. Three more made up her chest plates, one for each breast and another between them. The rest of the armour followed the same theme, long swooping curves, leaf like elegance. Eventually he found the straps, it took some doing, they were well shielded and piece by piece he pulled they heavy plates off of her. For they were heavy, much heavier than any of their armours. The gauntlets alone were a good fifteen pounds each.

    “How do you even move in this?” Ned asked the sleeping woman as he pulled off her pauldrons, at least double the weight of the gauntlets. No wonder the straps were so sturdy and made of something he didn't know of. It took him the better part of an hour to get the rest of the armour off her. She only wore standard undergarments beneath it, rather than the several layers that his men required. Yet she never seemed cold.

    Ned ran a finger of her stomach, marvelling at the lack of pressure lines. He could see the muscle under her skin, though it was subtle. To carry all that armour she had to be very strong, stronger than he was and her skin seemed resistant to it’s weight as if she was denser than a human. Ned pulled his hand away once he noticed what he was doing and pulled the furs over her. Then departed the room and made sure the room locked behind him.

A throughout the hold sounds echoed throughout the stone covered halls. Men and women, charges and servants prepared much for the recent announcement their lord had made.

    Maids packed for the trip, gathering the necessary attire for their Lord’s travel. They placed the clothing in large chests, for it was certain to be a long trip away from the walls of the castle. Men made ready for what would be done in their lord’s absences. Without the Head of the house around to do his sworn duties, there was much that had to be done in order to keep House Stark on its feet. A replacement had to be selected, if a temporary one. Guards had to be switched out to prepare just in case. The Starks were respected all across the North.

    Lady Stark and others huddled around the bed of one of her sons. Bran still sat, asleep in his bed after his fall. The boy’s chest rose and fell as normal, but the concern across his mother’s face had not changed in the slightest. The woman did not know of what had happened just moments ago, nor did she have any want to know. She could always question that, woman, at a later time. Currently all the Lady of the House could focus on was her son. Would he be alright? Had she been telling the truth? Was her husband sure in whatever strange trick that woman had pulled? How could it have healed such a grievous wound? Cat bit her lip. There were no answers.

 

* * *

 

The Stark glanced up at the King, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. Robert's eyes bore a stern seriousness like the steel of his sword. If not for his better judgement, Ned swore the man in front of him was not the jolly King, the man who grew large in luxury and wore a large beard upon his face. No. This was not the same King. This was the man of the battlefield, with blood soaked against his leather tunic, the steel of his belts and boots covered in rust from the rain upon the soaked fields.

Shaking his head, the man placed one hand on the King's shoulder and stepped to the side.

"Sire, please." Ned spoke, "This is not a good time." The Stark moved to brush past the larger man. There was much to do, still much to do. Bran still lay in his bed. Surely the boy had not awoken so soon. It would be good to be there, now more than ever.

As their shoulders brushed against each other, a hand gripped Ned by the arm. With a force unlike his appearance, Robert pulled the Stark back around to face him.

"No, it is not." The King grumbled, "But words matter little to the time."

"And we shall have them."

In the center of the hall, the two men stared at one another, silent but focused. The air grew thick. The soft carpets were like mud, and the King's grip felt like a snake constricting around the Stark's arm in a vice.

Robert cleared his throat, "I will not attempt to understand what happened in your son's room. My Hand or not, this is your castle, your home, and I am but a guest. But if I am to allow you to come into my home, I must know what has happened.” he spoke. "I am thankful that your son is healed, but from the news of his wound, that would not have come so quickly. I am not questioning that it had happened, but the how is more of my concern. Your boy fell from a height so high that I would assume the worst, and yet you claim he’ll be fine?”

Ned bit his tongue. Across from the king the Stark rubbed his face. His skin was rough, cracked and prickled from the chills of the North. The leather gloves gripped the sweat drenched fingers. 

Around the pair, noise clattered back and forth around the two lords. Servants carrying lord knows what while others barked orders. None of it made it any easier on the Stark’s rattled mind. People preparing for their departure, the shifts of chores and watches upon Winterfell’s walls, and the subtle muttering and whispers of everyone felt as if a soft breeze in comparison. As Ned gazed into the King’s eyes, his mind was like a storm roaring one summer’s night.

After what seemed like hours of fierce combat though, the Stark let out a sigh. “Very well,” he muttered, “Follow me then.”

    Removing hand from head, Robert blinked at such simple words, “Pardon?”

    As the King looked on, Ned turned on his heel and waved his free hand to the larger man. With a slight wave, he gestured the lord to follow, “Come. We’ll discuss this in a quiet place.”

    Underneath their boots, the Stark turned on his heel and made his way out of the hall, the king not far behind. As the two departed, sound swiftly dimmed in the busy chambers. Eyes turned and followed the two men. Servants slowed in their duties. Conversations slowed between officials, their attention drawn away from the subject at hand. It would be the last time, for a long time, that any of them would see such men again.

    Ned brought Robert to the room the Leshen’s head had been forgotten. “You ask me a lot, I hope you know that.” Ned muttered, “In my own house, upon a day such as this. It almost seems as if you’re trying to make me rethink my own decision on your offer.”

    The King flinched, “Not in the slightest. Only a bit of truth is desir-“

    “Sometimes truth is an even harder matter, I’m sure you know that.” Ned interrupted. “To be blissfully unaware is as much a gift as it is a burden to those who know. Especially when they do not understand it themselves.”

    At his friend’s words, Robert raised a brow. “Does that not make for finding the truth all the more important? For all to understand?”

    Ned shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not.” He picked up a wet burlap sack, coated in a dark, rustic, green tinge. Gnats and flies fluttered around the sack like moths to a flame. Lifted up by Ned’s gloves, a thick dribble of blood brushed passed his fingers, pooling to the ground in a red, sickly puddle. He opened it and showed Rob the head. “Jon and Herian brought this back with them from their hunt.”

Robert took a step back his eyes wide with uncertainty, “What is that?”

The Stark shot the King a look and spared the sack a glance, “This... is what remains of a creature that killed a direwolf in the Wolf’s Wood. It’s pups are now my children’s companions.” Ned warred with how much to say, Herian was something he didn’t yet understand and his mind was steadier then Robs at the best of times. “Herian was hurt by this creature.” He lifted the bag a little more. “She healed impossibly quickly and it’s my understanding that she turned that power to Bran. To med him.”

“That’s impossible, magic died with the Targarians. What is she to do such a thing? Something from beyond the wall?” Robert didn’t believe it but for the rotten head of a monster it’s lifeless black eyes staring up at him.

“I don’t know. Herian is the kind of person you can talk to all day but never understand. She has her own words for things we have no words for. She can talk about things we don’t have equals too and while she tries to describe and often likes to tell stories. I just know… that she is special. One of a kind and I am grateful she decided to stay in Winterfell.” Ned said closing the sack and setting it aside. He’d have to ask Herian what to do with the head. Something in the back of his mind said it would be safest to burn it.

“I would like to speak with her.” Robert said his voice steely. “You want to bring her south with you, don’t you?”

“Yes, she is very powerful and would probably not stay behind if I asked her too. She is not tame, or bound by our laws. I think she’d only take an order that went against her own code as a good reason to leave. I could be wrong though.” Eddard said his cold grey eyes met Robs. “But leave her be today. It’s clear that she rest.”

“Fine, but I must see her. If she is as powerful as you say, maybe she can help the Kingdom itself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardy: Yuck, I cut so much redundant dialogue. I can definitely tell this was co written out of our asses (not Kry different co writer) I rather expect to be cutting a lot out of this story. So much was just running on and on.


	6. A Pack of Starks

Herian woke up stiff and cold. Her stomach turned and she covered her mouth. The magic of this realm really didn’t agree with her. She coughed a few times and scrunched up her nose. “Princes, I’ve never been sick a day in my life.” The dark elf brushed a hand down her chest and noticed her armour was gone. “Huh, thanks Ned.” With a groan she pulled her legs out from under the heavy furs and stood.

    Her legs wobbled and she waved her arms about to balance before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Herian rubbed her hands over her face, _digesting_ this world's magic for lack of a better term. Was turning out to be a harder process then she thought. The end result left her feeling a bit faint. Her ears twitched as she heard footsteps through the door. The crimson haired woman got up again and walked over to her wardrobe. Pulling just breeches and a tunic on was work. A strange fatigue having set into her muscles. She made it to her cloak just in time to wrap it over her shoulders and pull her hood down low. She covered her mouth with a scarf as a knock echoed through the chamber. “Come.” She called out settling into the eve of the window.

    Eddard and Robert strode in, with Catelyn on their heels. Herian felt her eyes twitch to narrow into feline slits. The first two she could manage but Catelyn? Something about the southerner rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was because her hair was a bit brighter than Herian’s own. Her’s had been compared in unflattering conversation to blood, Cat wouldn’t have that problem. Though Herian mused, such a reason to dislike someone was much to petty for her. So it had to be something else, or just instinct. “How is Bran?”

    “Still sleeps.” Eddard said and offered the free chair beside Herian’s table to his wife.

    “I’d rather stand.” Catelyn said crossing her arms over her chest pulling her shawl tight. This room felt colder than she was used too. She looked at the woman clothed in grey and the breeches of a man. All her skin was covered even her feet, only red hair. The red of blood, of the leaves of the Weirwood trees. She hated it. It was an unnatural colour, just like the woman herself. 

    Eddard let Robert take the seat and asked Herian. “How do you fair?”

    “On the meld. Many aspects of me are still not accustomed to this place, it makes healing slower.” Herian hid her figure within the swaves of cloth of her cloak.

    “Are you hurt then?” Robert asked, he hated what he could not see.

    “After a fashion, I gave mayhap more than I should have to Bran. However his life was fragile and mine is not.” Herian let her gaze flick to the Stark. She couldn’t read his expressions, but he was ice and stone. These were things she found comforting. “I doubt this visit was to check after my health. Why are you three here?”

    Catelyn bristled. “Who are you to demand answers of us?”

    _Oh wouldn’t you love to know. Not that you’d understand a word of it._ Herian was glad for the scarf covering her smile. “Forgive me lady of the south. I do not believe in wasting words without a true need. Soothing your feathers does not reach that need to me.”

    “It could not kill you to recognize your betters. To be polite!” Catelyn boiled. She didn’t not believe this creature did not choose to call her lady of the south out of ignorance.

    “Earn it.”

    “Enough Herian, I understand your thoughts but please do not provoke my wife.” Eddard said with a sigh, the last time to two talked it had turned to barbs as well. He wondered what the problem was.

    “Never met a woman who could put you in your place Cat.” Robert chuckled he thought the exchange was amusing, never had he seen anyone expect maybe his own wife stand up with such ease to Cat. “Still let us get to the heart of the matter. I want to know who and what you are. Ned wants to bring you south and I am not comfortable doing that without some idea of just what you are.”

    “We have a phrase at home. Ignorance is bliss.” Herian said leaning back into the alcove. She wanted to open the shutters and jump away.

    “Herain. Now is not the time for your cheek.” Eddard said sternly. “Please do as Robert asks. Answer his questions.”

    Catelyn glared at her husband, to ask her to obey and not order?! She was nothing to them and yet Eddard was treating her like an equal. As she glared Herian reached up revealing ashen skin hands and pulled her hood down with a finger, then her scarf. Cat swallowed at the sight. Not human, from her pointed ears to her eyes. Pupils of a cat and the colour so wrong! No white at all but instead red like the fires of the seven hells, a ruby red with just a hint of purple. Cat cursed that violet colour, it was Targaryen purple. Or worse yet the purple of a Dayne… that Ashara Dayne. Catelyn thought, oh how she hated that woman.

    What made Catelyn hate Herian all the more, was that she was beautiful with an otherworldly feel that she didn’t doubt would fascinate many a man. Her cheeks were high but not sharp, no they had a smoothness to them a health that betrayed her youth. Nore was her face to long or jaw to strong. Both were in perfect balance. Cat found such perfection unfair. Her nose was small with a little up tilt that didn’t seem human in nature. Like her ears, they had next to no lob and both features reminded Catelyn of cats. Her brow was even delicate and eyebrows again to pristine. Too many things were to perfect when Cat was sure she put no effort into her appearance. Even the curl of her hair, fresh from bed and yet it looked lovely.

    Robert was stunned, she was an eternal creature with thin lips being her only detractor. At rest it let him admire her features without expression changing them. Once one got past the colour, she really was a beauty. “What are you?” He asked awe in his voice.

    “Dunmer.”

    Eddard didn’t like how she looked away from them. He watched her fine fingers as she pushed a window shutter open. He had seen her full features many times now, but not at rest like this. She was so animated in living in all things, this was not right.

    “Forgive me but Ned, she looks like Ashara. Maybe a bit thinner and the lips are wrong but the cheeks.” Robert was too busy admiring to see Cat’s fury or Neds shock.

    Ned hadn’t thought of Ashara and Herian in the same sentence but now it was obvious. Though not as much as Robert clearly thought. The cheeks yes… and their was that purple in her eyes. However Herian was to short, built with too much muscle she lacked Ashara’s softness. Even if those eyes often laughed with the same light. “Maybe a little Robert, but women with soft cheekbones aren’t that uncommon.”

    Herian was trying to keep the red out of her ashen cheeks. No one had stared at her like this in many years. Well that was mostly her own doing so it was hardly anyone else's fault. She glanced over and saw the heat in Cat’s cheeks. No doubt in anger. “Do I offend you Lady Catelyn? And who is Ashara?”

    Robert laughed. “Ahh, girl when we were young lads Ned here loved a Dornish girl. A violet eyed beauty, you look a bit like her. Just a version that is not human. You should have seen Ned so shy he had to ask Brandon to ask her for a dance for him. Head over heels he was.”

    “Rob!” Ned near shouted in embarrassment.

    “Oh.” Now Herian could not keep the blush from her cheeks. Now she was being compared to a human beauty, Ned looked like he was about to blush himself at this rate.

    Eddard saw the flush of her cheeks and saw for the first time ever. Herian’s body language shifted to shy and coy. He was very abruptly reminded that she was a woman, not just a dunmer, a foreigner or a warrior. A woman, who seemed to have a lot more in common with a human then he had noticed before. She had a soft beauty.

    Catelyn saw Eddard loose his words, there was no doubt in her mind that he now saw what Robert pointed out. She did not like how his jaw hovered barely open, or how his eyes roamed up and down her hidden figure. It seemed Ashara Dayne still stood between them.

    The dunmer blushed deeper at the continued staring and reached back to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Tracing the delicate curve absentmindedly. “Umm, here.” She lowered her hand and summoned a pale orange flame with it. “My kind possess a magic that we can form many ways. This is how I healed Bran.” The flame quickly vanished her magicka too exhausted to maintain it.

    Now they all stared at her fingertips. Robert asked. “Can you do that again?”

    Herian shook her head, causing her hair to catch the midday light. “No, I don’t really have much talent for magic. Healing Bran is frankly some of the best healing magic I’ve ever done. My magic itself… well at home we believe all magic comes from our sun and stars. Yours are different thus my magic does not return to me with ease.”

    “That’s terribly convenient for you.” Catelyn sneered.

    “And I am not wasting what resources I do have to prove a point to you. For one so demanding of politeness a thank you for saving your son's spine wouldn’t go amiss. Had I done nothing he would have been crippled for life.”

    “Thank you Herian. Are you satisfied Robert?” Ned could see that Herian was tired and wanted them to leave.

    “No, where are you from?”

    “You would not believe me if I told you. My world lives and breaths magic, your world's magic is a very quiet thing in comparison. I could say things but you wouldn’t understand.” Herian turned her attention out the window again, she could feel the cold in her fingertips. Even sister wolf seemed tired.

    “Try me, this world once had dragons.” Robert said crossing his arms over his chest.

    “... My home is called Nirn. It resides in a pocket of space we call the Void surrounded by another level with we call Aetherius. Once long ago a Magna Ge, a form of god named Magnus grew to hate Nirn and left to Aetherius ripping a hole in Oblivion to reach Aetherius the immortal plane. This rip we call our sun. The other Magna Ge who followed him created the stars. Our magic comes from Aetherius through these rips. As far as I can tell this world has no connection to Aetherius thus I have no easy source of magicka what we call power that fuels our magic. I dried up my magicka helping Bran.” Herian looked over to the confused Robert. “Told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

    “So you come from a different world altogether.” Catelyn asked, while making a mental note to keep all of her children away from her.

    “Yes. It took me a while to learn your language.”

    “Then how did you get here?” Robert got up and started to pace.

    “I am not certain. I am not unfamiliar with multidimensional teleportation however I do not recall any of the usual signs before I found myself dumped onto your world. It’s most likely I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and fell into a tear. There are times in space were such tears can happen with relative ease or it’s entirely possible Uncle Sheo decided I needed a change of place and decided to move me here.” Herian simply used her words for things. Explaining the concepts involved would take forever and accomplish nothing. “I do not know. I am not a powerful mage, while I have traveled never by my own power.”

    “So you can’t leave.” Catelyn spoke before either man could.

    “That is correct. I am stuck on a world with mortals that would probably try and kill me simply for being different.” Herian looked to Ned. “I suppose one could argue that being in Lord Stark’s service gives me a layer of protection against you humans.”

    Eddard met her eyes, there was something in her tone that he couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something that suggested that she saw them as cut from a different cloth then herself. “Which I am happy to give you. You’ve already proven very helpful. Come Rob, Cat we leave on the morrow Herian hasn’t packed yet.”

    Herian was mildly surprised when the Catelyn didn’t speak against the order and when Rob stood and said. “You can I will be talking more.” Then he left as well. She rubbed her eyes, Gods she was so tired she was sure that she could sleep clear through till the morrow. However as she got up her door opened again and a little pack of Starks snuck into her room.

    Ayra was first, followed by Robb and Jon. “Jon said you were leaving with father tomorrow! You couldn’t go without saying goodbye!” Her eyes went wide taking in Herian’s uncovered features.

    “Of course not. I am sorry, I only woke a few minutes ago and your father and mother wished to speak with me.” Herian leaned against the wall.

    “Are you alright?” Jon asked moving to her. She usually seemed so effortless in everything, right now it seemed like it was a battle just to stand. He gently took her arm and was surprised when she leaned on him.

    “Thank you, healing Bran just took a lot out of me.” Together they walked over to the bed and Jon let go of her as she sat on the edge.

    “Are you really leaving tomorrow?” Ayra bounced over to her.

    “Yes.”

    “Then does that mean you won’t be able to teach us more stuff?” Ayra asked her bottom lip wobbling.

    “You are coming south as well remember. This is not goodbye for us.” Herian said and offered Ayra her hand.

    Ayra took it and bounced up onto the bed and snuggled Herian’s side.“But it won’t be the same! You’ll be busy working for father and Robb has to stay up here!” She sniffed. “I don’t want to go south! I want to stay up here.”

    Herian wasn’t totally sure what to do with the cuddling child. “Well, think of it like this. You won’t have your mom around to make you learn to sew. Cause you know I will never do such a thing. I can barely mend my armour much less make anything. Or make you go to that sept that your mother likes, I have noticed you hate it. Lastly it won’t be forever, I know your father does not wish to be Hand of the King. Maybe he will be able to find someone else to do the job.”

    “He doesn’t? Then why did he say yes?” Robb asked grabbing the chair that Robert had used and carrying it over so they could all sit together.

    “Your fathers reasons are his own. It’s not my place to speak them.” Herian sat a hand over Ayra’s. “But I will keep your father safe in all his endeavors.”

    “Would you like help packing?” Jon asked. “Ayra and I are already done but you don’t look like you’ve started.”

    “That would be fantastic thank you. I feel as if I could sleep for a week.” Herian said and couldn’t contain the yawn. “I don’t have much though, if you could just gather the clothes I have been given and put them into that sactual I’d appreciate it. I plan to wear my armour south so there is no point in doing anything with it.”

    There wasn’t much to put away but she more let them clean for her because Ayra and Robb had that nervous energy about them that meant they needed something to do. While his half siblings put the occasional sock or tunic into a travel bag. Jon remained with Herian, an arm discreetly around her back holding her up.

    The two other Starks finished in minutes and gathered back around Herian again. Robb could see that she was tired but Ayra wasn’t that perspective yet. “Mother says I will have to ride in the wheelhouse with all the other ladies. Can I ride with you instead?”

    Herian felt colour touch her cheeks again. “You better ride with the ladies. I dislike horses. If I could get away with riding behind Jon I would.”

    Ayra burst out into giggles. “I think that would be really cute!”

    “AYRA!! ROBB!”

    Both Starks flinched at the yell from their mother. Catelyn burst into room her red hair curling in her fury. “What are you two doing! Don’t you have lessons to tend to and packing to do!”

    Ayra and Robb fled rather than risk invoking their mothers wrath. Catelyn glared at Jon. “You too as well, I want a private word with her.”

    Jon gave Herian a little squeeze to her side and left, he could tell when Catelyn was in a mood. He closed the door behind him and Herian let herself fall back into the bedding. “What do you want Catelyn?”

    “I did not give you permission to address me by my given name.” Catelyn raised her chin and clasped her hands together putting on the airs of being a proper lady.

    “See how much I care.” The dunmer let the sarcasm drip from her voice. “Get to the point and go away.”

    Catelyn brustled but spoke. “It has come to my attention that you will go south with my lord.”

    “Just finished trying to talk Eddard out of taking me didn’t you?”

    “I just wish to explain to you, your… role. I saw how he looked at you and now you are leaving with him-.”

    “And the last time he went south he came back with Jon.” Herian sat up slowly looking Catelyn up and down. “I figured it out by how Robert was speaking of Ashara. You’re afraid history will repeat itself.”

    “He is my husband it is my right to have him.”

    Herian laughed. “Lady Stark. I have no interest in your husband. He is human and I am mer. I honestly hadn’t thought about him in such a way.”

    “Feelings can change.” Catelyn said. “You will be spending months if not years in his company. I am sure you will both get lonely, if he approaches you, I ask that you remind him of his duty.”

    “Family, Duty, Honor. Those are your Tully family words right? I heard Sansa say them once.” Herian moved standing strong and walked up to Cat. She had to look up to meet the Tully’s eyes. “You should be speaking to your husband about this not me. I do not care for you. Your sense of honor and pride aren’t my concern. If you think Eddard will stray maybe you need to put more effort into your marriage bed.”

    Cat’s hand flew before she even knew what she was doing. The slap across Herian’s cheek made the skin light up red. Herian only smiled and Cat turned on her heel and fled the room the door banging behind her. Herian sighed and walked over to the door, grabbing it and closing it. The latch fell shut heavily and she sagged against it. “No more visitors today please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardy: So it occurred to me that I never actually described Herian's features till nine or so chapters in last time. Well that needed fixing and I didn't like how I handled Robert, Robb or Ayra so trying to give them more love too. Also in the very very very early concepts of this story, Cat and Herian hated each others guts. That never really got into the writing of this story last time. So I wanted to put a bit more into that as well. Lastly I felt bad about cutting what ended up to be three pages of content from the last chapter without putting in anything new. So this is all new.  
> Thank you too: LadyJensen for your comment.


	7. The King's Road

The party set off ahead with the King as Ned, Benjen, Jon and Herian all stopped at the crossroads. The huge caravan continuing on southward across the green tundra of the north.

"Thank you for coming Benjen." Ned clasped his brother's shoulder.

"It was a welcome reprieve from the wall." Benjen returned the gesture, they hugged then parted. Benjen looked to Jon, "Are you coming?"

Jon looked up to Herian perched up on her horse. "No Uncle, Herian has offered me an apprenticeship and I have accepted."

Benjen's eyes popped out of his skull, Jon's stories rushed to the forefront of his mind. "You are very lucky, from your stories I think many men would kill for that opportunity."

"Rangers are very picky with apprentices, anyone who would kill for the position wouldn't be accepted." Herian said, warmth in her voice.

"A great order it must be to have such morals." Benjen bowed his head to the dark elf. "Well goodbye, write often." He gave Jon a hug, mounted his horse and set off for the Wall.

Ned, Herian and Jon kicked their horses to a trot to catch up with the King and his guard. When they made it to the beginning of the procession, Ned took up on his Kings' right. While Herian settled behind Eddard to his right at a companionable distance with John beside her.

When they settled into the march John offered his hand, Herian passed over the reins of her horse without a second thought. Jon chuckled and wrapped them around his saddle horn, watching Herian sit like someone had shoved a blade between her shoulder blades was rather funny. "You can relax you know, I got you the calmest steed we have." John said, trying to ease his mentor.

"I can tell, it's just-" She grabbed the saddlehorn a little tighter as they started down a slight hill.

"You're terrified of horses?" Jon said with a smirk.

"Not terrified! Just extremely wary." Her pout was evident in her voice.

"You can keep telling yourself that, but I know the truth." John said smiling.

"Oh be quiet." Herian almost stuck her tongue out at the boy, but he could hear it in her tone.

Jon laughed, then finished for another topic. "So how did the Rangers start?"

"That is a very long story and you are not going to grasp most of it." Herian allowed herself to relax fractionally, the mare really was very calm.

"We have time." Jon said, his father was also now keeping his ears peeled. They weren't talking loud enough for anyone past him to hear.

"Well to learn about the Rangers, you must first hear about the Blades. Where I come from we don't have a Kingdom, we have an Empire. It's maybe hmmm, ten times the size of this land by my guessing, probably more as that doesn't count what lives under the ground. The first unified Empire was formed by a Tiber Septim, the first person to ever have all nine races under his banner, I won't go into how he did it. The point is with the Septims came the Blades. The Blades were the elite bodyguards to the Emperor and those of Dragon Blood. This lasted till the Septim line died out in a rather spectacular fashion." Herian sighed. "After that there was another war and many other events that drove the Blades to near extinction as they looked for a new Dragonborn. Eventually two Blades found my Grandmother, the Nerevarine and a Dragonborn. You must understand by this point my Grandmother was a tired soul and not a very nice person. This was around the same time that Alduin the World Eater returned. My Grandmother did not want the Blades to serve as her bodyguards, the Blades could not kill dragons without her help though. Only one with a dragon soul and Dragon Blood, a Dragonborn, can truly kill a dragon. Not just in flesh for a Dragonborn devours the soul of a dragon. To prevent it from ever returning. In the end these last Blades and my Grandmother came to an agreement. My Grandmother refused to back a return of the Blades, instead she and the remaining Blades created a new order. The Rangers, the Rangers are under my Grandmother's direct command, but instead of serving as bodyguards they serve as, as you know as heros' for hire. When the normal channels fail you hire a Ranger. Rangers are assigned to Provinces and they cycle through the land."

"Are you a Dragonborn then?" Jon asked. "Blood and soul?"

Herian sighed. "Aye, it has caused me no end of trouble. My father is one as well and a Ranger, my Aunt Chani rarely serves as a Ranger but is trained."

"Why does that get you into trouble?" John asked.

"We can kill dragons, not all dragons were smart enough to fall in under Paarthurnax. So my father and myself and when things get really tight, Chani and Keria, we all get set all over the Empire to hunt down the rogues."

"What about your Grandmother? The Nerevarine?" Jon thought she sounded very powerful.

"Grandma only gets called into action when something big turns up. Something big enough that the usual teams can't handle." Herian shuddered violently. "We lost some good Rangers the last time that happened. And it made me very glad to be a werewolf."

"What happened?" Jon asked warily.

Herian went silent for a long while, they made it all the way down the hill and almost a mile more before she spoke, just loud enough for Ned and John to hear. "A group of Thamlor got desperate enough to turn to the Sload. The Sload are horrible, giant slugs with arms and legs, with a gift for Necromancy and plagues. The Sload created another plague for Tamriel, the last one whipped out over two thirds of Tamriels' population. We found out and attacked just in time before it was released. My whole team was slaughtered, my mother was among them. I only lived because of my wolf blood, it protected me from the disease. I managed to call my Grandmother as my friends fell, the Thamlor were to busy gloating about their deal, the plague and the plan to release it into Tamriel. Then my Grandmother showed up." Herian knew she was green under her helm and fought the need to throw up. "Well let's just say the Thamlor died a slow and painful death, and the Sload found out that the power of the Tribunal was not as gone was they had been lead to believe."

"I'm sorry." Jon said softly.

Herian waved her hand dismissively. "It was almost seven years ago."

"How old were you?" Jon asked.

"Nineteen."

Jon didn't know what to say, so he reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

Herian smiled and allowed a purr to rumble up through her for him to hear. "Thank you."

They travelled in silence for a few minutes before Jon asked. "So what did you do after that?"

Herian shrugged. "Starting working solo, roamed and then was assigned to a new province, lingered there till I was assigned to the Summerset Isle. Then I ended up here, I had only been here for a few weeks before you found me."

"You stopped taking partners? Then why did you take me on?" Jon asked.

Herian fiddled with her left gauntlet straps. "New place, new start. And you're not a partner you're an apprentice. I am responsible for your well being, if anything happens to you it's on my head. Unlike a partner when I tell you to run, you will run, if I tell you to hide you will hide. I have greater command over you, so I can keep you safe."

Jon worked through that, after hearing a little more of her history. It made sense why she differed him from her past teammates. "But that didn't answer my question, why did you take me on? Had you not offered I would be going to the Wall now, you prevented that, you intervened. Why?"

Herian schooled herself to be still and said softly. "You talk about the Wall like it was this great thing of honour. I learned your tongue by listening to the Men of the Night’s Watch, it's a cold, cruel place, run by criminals given leave to do whatever they want. You deserve better than that, you are kind and caring. Going to the Wall, taking the Black would have been a mistake. I like you, you are intelligent and willing to learn, even when it's outside of your comfort place. I could not ask for a better student," Herian sighed. "And you remind me of my family, so you are pleasant to have around for that reason as well."

"Well Thanks I guess." Jon rubbed the back of his head. "So what is your family like, who do I remind you of?"   
Herian chuckled. "Large and you remind me of Harimad. His hair is a bit straighter and he is much taller than you, but you have the same open expressions, the same bearing. Harimad is quick to smile and has your same kindness. He is a Witcher and a very great warrior. When I finished my Witcher training I traveled with him for two years, he was my mentor."

"Why did you two part ways?"

"I wanted to return to Tamriel, he too wanted new adventures. It was just time for change."

"Ah." Jon looked over to her, he could really grow to hate that helm.

 

* * *

 

The procession made its way slowly south, stopping each night, each more dull and boring than the last. Today the King called for a lunch stop and they came to a halt to allow the King and his Hand their meal. Robert and Ned sat on either side of a mini table, covered with fine foods, fruit and wine. Herian sat a ways away, listening to her Thane with Jon meditating before her.

Robert scoffed taking a drink. "Gods, this is country! I've half a mind to leave them all behind and keep going."

"I've half a mind to go with you." Ned relaxed in his chair, playing with a grape.

The King grinned. "What do you say, just you and me on the Kingsroad, swords at our sides, a couple of tavern wenches to warm our beds tonight."

"You should have asked me twenty years ago." The Stark said with a smile.

Robert sighed. "There were wars to fight, women to marry... We never had the chance to be young."

With a grin Ned said. "I recall a few chances."

Robert took another drink and leaned back. "There was that one... Oh, what was her name? That common girl of yours? Becca? With the great big tits you could bury your face in."

After a moment's thought. "Bessie. She was one of yours."

Robert chuckled. "Bessie! Thank the gods for Bessie and her tits. Yours was... Aleena? No. You told me once. Meryl? Your bastard's mother?"

"Wylla." Ned said softly and Jon stiffened.

Herian boxed him lightly over the ears and hissed at him to focus. Though she wondered why Ned was lying, was it something to do with the image that Jon was base born? The elf almost shook her head, she doubted she’d ever understand these people.

"That's it." The King continued on oblivious. "She must have been a rare wench to make Lord Eddard Stark forget his honour. You never told me what she looked like."

"Nor will I." Ned said solemnly.

The King looked at his friend and said. "We were at war. None of us knew if we were gonna go back home again. You're too hard on yourself. You always have been. I swear if I weren't your King, you'd have hit me already."

"The worst thing about your coronation... I'll never get to hit you again."

"Trust me, that's not the worst thing. There was a rider in the night." Robert handed Ned a slip of paper across the table.

After reading the note."Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Should we send her a wedding gift?"

“A knife perhaps, a good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it."

Ned almost glared at his King. "She's little more than a child."

"Soon enough that child will spread her legs and start breeding."

"Tell me we're not speaking of this." Ned turned away slightly.

Robert was quick to temper. "Oh, it's unspeakable to you? What her father did to your family. That was unspeakable. What Rhaegar Targaryen did to your sister, the woman I loved. I'll kill every Targaryen I get my hands on."

"But you can't get your hands on this one, can you?" Ned said sharply.

"This Khal Drogo, it's said that he has a hundred thousand men in his horde."

"Even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, as long as they remain on the other side of the Narrow Sea. They have no ships, Robert." Ned said annoyed with this conversation.

"There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. If the Targaryen boy crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the scum will join him."

"He will not cross. And if by chance he does, we'll throw him back into the sea."

The King took a drink. "There's a war coming, Ned. I don't know when, I don't know who we'll be fighting, but it's coming."

Herian listened as she kept an eye on Jon, he struggled with the inner calm required to meditate properly, but then she didn't blame him for it. He probably hadn't know what his mothers' name was up until now. Why Ned didn't just tell Jon what he wanted to know was beyond her. However being a bastard wasn't even note worthy where she hailed from. Not worth the effort to whine about, she was a bastard, almost all her uncles and aunts were bastards. It didn't do them any harm, and Grandmother was to changeable to marry all her lovers. She had one husband and refused to take another, even when that one past on. Still maybe it would be worth telling Jon that Eddard had lied.

Herian shook her head and refocused her thoughts, Ned and the King still talked but had moved to safer less interesting conversations. They stayed for another half hour then the party set off again.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn sat beside Bran, weaving a wreath as her son soundly slept. In the far corner of the room, the sun's rays disappeared over the horizon. The hour grew late, shadows creeping over the high walls. A cool breeze drifted in through an open window, the night slowly beginning. Catelyn felt a small yawn escaped her lips. For hours she had spent watching over her dear boy, and the watch piled up upon her shoulders. Only kept awake by her worrying, she sighed and leaned against the bed.

Glancing up, she spared Bran a small mournful smile. The boy looked so peaceful. Under any other circumstances, one could assume he was merely asleep, dreams filled with possibilities of tomorrow with a smile. Yet as her eyes fell upon her son, Catelyn felt only sorrow.

Out of the blue, a sudden creak echoed through the bedroom.

"You're not supposed to be here." A voice spoke up. Low, gravelly, like the dirt under one's boots. "No one is supposed to be here. It's a mercy. He's dead already."

Raising her head, Catelyn stumbled over a gasp.

Across the boy's bedroom stood a man. He held a fine dagger in hand but wore rags, an attire fitting of a rat from the street. No one in the castle wore such attire and his sore expression screamed one of ill intent.

Eyes widened with shock, Catelyn shot to her feet. She rushed between her son and the man, nearly tripping over herself as she did so. "Get out." she snapped.

Uncaring to those in front of him, the brute pushed forward and raised his dagger high. The light from a nearby candle shone off the blade, like the sun, unrelenting for what it was made to do. Stuck in the moment, Catelyn moved before she could even consider what was happening. She threw herself at the man, kicking and shouting, doing whatever she could think of to stop the figure in front of her. Catelyn grabbed at the assassin's arms, grasping at his wrist. Despite the man's humble appearance though, he was stronger, bigger, and far more than a simple degenerate.

With a simple shove, the assassin threw the mother back as if she was nothing. The sudden force sent Catelyn stumbling backwards, her feet tripping over each other as she fell. A loud thud followed as she hit the ground hard, head nearly bouncing off the bedpost as she landed. For a few seconds, all the lady could feel was a throbbing pain across her head. Catelyn struggled to stand. She grabbed at the bedrest and tried to pull herself up. A warm fluid trailed down her forehead, a small cut now across her skin.

Yet the pain did not matter. Catelyn pulled at the bed, trying to get to her feet. She had to get to her feet. Her son was right there, with a man ready to kill him as he slept. Bran was so still unable to do a thing to protect himself. Halfway to her knees, the mother felt a hand wrap itself around her throat and pull her backwards. Once more she fell back, her spine smacking against the floor once more. Pain tore through the woman's body, whilst her vision tried to adjust to the sudden movement.

The figure rose above the woman, fingers pressed into the delicate flesh of her neck. The assassin glared down at the woman. She struggled against his grip, thrashing back and forth whilst her legs kicked uselessly against the floorboards.

"Sorry." The assassin muttered. "Shouldn't have been here. No witnesses."

Before her eyes, Catelyn watched as the man placed his knife against her neck. The smooth, sharp blade cut into her flesh. Even the lightest of pressures cut deep into her throat. In the center of her chest, Catelyn Stark felt her heartbeat relentlessly. Her eyes widened and her throat grew painful, dry, useless. The last moments of her life, she turned her head and glanced at the bed to her side.

To Bran, her son.

The assassin threw out his arm and flicked his wrist. The knife in hand shot sideways, now a mix of grey and red. Blood gushed out from the wound, bubbling up from the cut flesh. Life faded from the body at his feet. Eyes crew dull, struggling faded into the night.

Nothing but a corpse now, cold and still.

The deed done, the man rose to his feet and drew his knife over his sleeve. From the blade, blood stained the ragged fabric, such as a reminder to the life now lost. The Assassin turned to the bed at his side. The knife now raised once more, as he took one step toward the bed. It would be quick, painless, and he would be gone before anyone knew otherwise. Yet as the man drew closer, something stirred across the other side of the room. A shadow, a figure smaller than a person. Eyes shined through the shadows, focusing on the back of the ragged man.

With a loud growl, the figure pounced. Bran's direwolf, Summer leapt from his hiding place and launched itself at the assassin. The wolf was a large creature, with brown and white fur along with a mouth full of sharp teeth.

Unaware of what was coming, the assassin had no time to react. The direwolf jumped from behind, slamming into the man's back before throwing him onto the floor. Teeth as sharp as knives themselves, Summer gnawed viciously onto the man's throat, tearing literal chunks of flesh from his throat before he could even gasp. Blood pooled onto the ground, all around the bastard's body as the life seeped out of him.

Moments passed and with the Assassin dead at his feet, Summer let out a whine. The Direwolf spared Catelyn a small glance before leaping up onto the bed, joining his master yet again. The beast's pelt was coated in blood, a sign of his defence of his own defenceless master. Comfortable, Summer began cleaning himself, licking the blood from his pelt. Yet as the sound of licking filled the air, something happened.

Bran, for the first time in what seemed like days, opened his eyes.

 

* * *

 

When the King called for a stop in a major town, Herian kept close to Ned while keeping an eye on the rest of the Starks, Jon followed her till she pulled him aside. "Keep an eye on Arya will you? I saw her drag off some boy towards the river. And for an exercise, see if you can manage it without her seeing you. Send Ghost if you need any help."

Jon nodded. "Okay, come Ghost." The boy and his Direwolf slipped away to hunt for his sister.

Following Arya proved to be alarmingly easy for Jon, he wasn't even aware of it when his walk turned from normal to hunting, his stride lengthened, his steps grew silent.

Arya and the boy stopped by the river and Arya found two long sticks for them. It was a glorious day, a magical day. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of flowers, and the woods here had a gentle beauty that Jon had never seen in the north. He knelt in the bushes and couldn't help but chuckled, watching the two attempt to beat each other up. Arya was fast to the boys strength, it was all going fine till Sansa and Joffrey came into view out of the woods. Ayra and the boys stick swords went  _ clack clack clack _ against each other.

"Oh boy." Jon said and turned to Ghost. "Go find Herian." The wolf shot off and Jon rose from the bushes. "I've got a bad feeling about this." He approached slowly to hear Sansa shout.

"Arya!"

Arya turned to her sister her dislike evident. "What are you doing here? Go away." She hated that her game had been found out by her sister of all people. Angry tears gathered in her eyes. “Leave us alone!”

Joffrey glanced from Ayra to Sansa and back again. “Your sister?” She nodded, blushing. Joffrey examined the boy, an ungainly lad with a coarse, freckled face and thick red hair. “And who are you, boy?” He asked in a commanding tone that took no notice of the fact that the other was a year his senior.

"Mycah,” the boy muttered. He recognized the prince and averted his eyes. “M’lord.”

"He's the butcher's boy." Sansa said.

"He's my friend." Arya said sharply. “You leave him alone.”

Joffrey gave Mycah a lopsided smile. "A butcher's boy who wants to be a Knight, eh? Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are."

"There only children my Prince." Jon cut in seemingly appearing out of no-where beside the butchers' boy. Arya beamed when he appeared, Jon smiled slightly. "Let them play, that is all it is." 

"I don't take orders from you bastard." Joffrey glared at Jon and drew his sword.

Jon raised his hands in a calming manner. "It was just a suggestion my Prince, you are the one trying to escalate things." Jon's hand twitched toward his sword but he restrained himself, he just need to buy time for Herian.

"They were fighting! He hit my Lady's sister." Joffrey growled pointing aggressively at Mycah.

"A bruise at worst, she started it. My mentor saw her pull Mycah away to play, she set me to keep an eye on the two. No one was in any danger." Jon flicked his hand at Mycah and said, "Go back to your father." Then much more softly. "Before this gets ugly."

Mycah nodded and fled.

"Hey!" Joffrey raised his sword. "You can't order him to leave!"

"I didn't, I just gave him leave to leave." Jon faked backing down a relaxing.

"Fine then draw your sword bastard." Joffrey pointed his blade at Jon.

"JON, ARYA!" Herian came barreling through the bush far too fast to be human, Ghost hot on her heels. She grabbed the Prince blade and yanked it out of his hand. "What do you think you are doing? Waving your sword around carelessly?!" She had just enough control to not growl at him.

Joffrey looked between her and his sword stunned for a moment, then he sneered. "We were just going to spar."

"No you weren't, Jon is under orders to observe and report, not fight. Run back to your mother little Princeling you are not needed here." Herian snarled at him.

Outraged beyond words Joffrey stormed off to find his mother and maybe his father. Sansa started after him.

"Sansa stay." Herian ordered, her voice taking on a wolven edge.

Sansa lurched to a stop, torn between the command and her Prince. “But I have to go.” Sansa knew she had to go, she had to stay in the princes good graces. Her mother had explained to her how important it was. That she was going to be queen one day.

"He is just going to go whine, you are not in any danger." Herian looked down at the blade in her hand. "Ayra, Sansa, this can't happen again."

"Why is it my fault!" Ayra said and stamped her foot.

"I didn't say it was pup, the only one at fault was Joffrey." She flipped the blade and caught it by the hilt, then rested the blade against her shoulder. "Maybe you've noticed, or I hope you have now, but the Prince isn't exactly stable."

"What do you mean stable?" Sansa asked, her cheeks lighting up red. Her mother had said that the prince was a good boy.

"Would a stable person decided to turn a harmless stick fight into a sword fight? When they have the only weapon?" Herain asked the young woman. Sansa chose to look at the ground as Herian continued. "Be on your guard around him, everyone should be. So as the little prince will run to his mom, what shall be our story?"

"You want us to have a story?" Ayra said, not completely understanding.

"You can be guaranteed the Prince will lie in his favour, twist the truth into what he wants it to be. Just because I can hear a lie, doesn't mean anyone else can. So we will need to be unified in the truth, that way it will be all our words against his." Herian shifted her weight onto one foot.

"But he is my Prince I must side with him." Sansa said mutely.

"Aye, but here you have your sister and your brother. Do you really want a Prince as… volatile as him? You are a very pretty young woman Sansa, you can do much better. And being Queen? Being a ruler is not as much fun as the stories make it out to be, you'll understand when you are older." Herian said, a dread of her own filled her. How close she had come to standing in Sansa’s shoes. Or worse yet if she ever went back to Nirn she might stand in them yet. “Please Sansa, I understand your mother wishes for you to be Queen. But consider that your father does not want that for you. He knows better then to wish that for you. To be a ruler is to give your life to your people. Good rulers do not do whatever suits them. They lose their privacy, free time and have their ability to decide the direction of their life taken from them.”

"What would you know about it?" Sansa snapped.

"My Grandmother is a General, she would be the Empress of my homeland if she wanted it. But she was smart enough to not. My Aunt Arianna is the Queen of a nation, Ghani another aunt is a head of the Witcher Wolf School, Keria is the head of the Companions. Like you I learned how to run a household, I know much of what being a ruler entails. And I rather like my freedom and will never want the role. A good ruler serves the people, not the other way around. Could you do that? Live to serve the people under your command?" Herian asked, she knew she couldn’t. She was too wild at heart, that her place was on the Path.

Sansa's silence was all the response she gave.

"When we are called before the King, we all will tell the truth and if we are lucky. Nothing will come of this. Now come, let’s go back, it will be dinner soon." Herian set off the way she had come, the Starks falling into line behind her.

Sure enough they arrived just in time for a messenger to come up toward them. "The King and his Queen summon you three." The bland man said.

"Lead the way." Herian gestured for him to go.

They followed the man into a large white tent, the whole of the Lannisters, the King and Ned in attendance. Joffrey at his mother's side. With a swagger, Herain flipped the blade off her shoulder and swung it so fast in circles that it blurred then offered the hilt to the Prince. "You ran before I could return this."

"You left out that Neds latest acquisition disarmed you." Robert said jestingly, but the little display of Herian's had him very wary. He was still trying to wrap his head around her story of home, but looking at the woman clad in black armour. Seeing her PLAY with a sword, it made him very sure she was more than she let on. His eyes flicked to her collection of weapons, and very well armed. Finally he asked. "What happened?"

"Jon you were there for the entirety of it. Start from the beginning." Herian side stepped to allow Jon centre stage.

Jon shifted nervously, then started from the beginning. "When we got into town Herian noticed that Arya had drawn Mycah, the butchers boy off to play. She sent me to follow then to make sure they didn't get into any trouble. I did and stayed out of sight as she requested of me. Ayra and Mycah played at sword fighting with two sticks. No one was getting hurt. Sansa and Prince Joffrey found them by the river and the Prince took offence to the play between Ayra and Mycah. The Prince tried to get Mycah to fight him sword to stick. I came out of the bushes to try and prevent the Prince from hurting Mycah, I tried to talk him down till Herian came. She came disarmed Prince Joffrey and sent him away. Then we came back to town."

"How did Herian know to come?" The King asked.

"I sent Ghost to get her." He gestured at the white Direwolf pup beside him.

The Hound of the King spoke up. "I remember seeing the wolf my King, and the woman run off with him."

"And you two, is this a faithful retelling of events?" Robert asked Sansa and Ayra.

Both girls nodded. Sansa was not sure about this, she should stand by Joffery but Herian’s words had stuck with her. Her mother said that she would be queen and she wanted to be Queen. Yet something about what the dunmer had said rang true. Could it be better to be a lady like her mother? To not have to worry about a whole Kingdoms worth of people?

The King sighed. "No harm, no foul. You can all go."

Jon, Sansa and Ayra fled, and as Herian turned to follow.

"Wait you." Robert stared hard the small woman. "How did you know sometime like this was going to happen. You won't have sent Jon otherwise."

Herian shrugged. "If shit can fly, it will, I had heard Joffrey and Sansa talking and I saw Ayra head off with Mycah. I figured they would end up meeting at some point. Jon needed something to do and something to test his training on. I felt tailing his sister for the day would be a good exercise, turned out it was very wise."

"And you ordered him to send his wolf if anything came up." Robert mused.

"Direwolves are very intelligent and the Stark children have a gift for them. I had faith Ghost would find me if the need arose." Herian tapped a finger on the pummel of her left blade.

"Thank you for looking out for them, this could have been painful for everyone had someone been hurt." Robert almost shuddered at the idea.

"I am sworn to protect the Starks, while I am sure my Thane only meant it one way. Their physical and emotional well being are my concern." She stood straight and tall, like a soldier.

"I take it that oath does not extend to the Crown." Robert asked calculating, she had said Thane not Lord.

Ned could hear her smile under her helm as she said. "It does not, if you want me to do something you will have to ask Eddard."

Ned sucked his breath in sharply, his gaze flicking between his vassal and his King.

"And you wouldn't swear an oath to me if asked." Robert asked slowly.

"I only give my loyalty to those who have earned it, you have not." Herian confirmed.

“How  _ dare  _ you speak to your king in that manner!” Cersei who sat beside Robert blazed with anger.

“Quiet, woman.” Robert sat up and snapped at his wife. To Herian he asked. "Not even if I rule the land you live in?"

"Live on not in, I am not your people, you are not my King. I owe you nothing." Herian just managed to keep her dislike of the man out of her voice. One positive conversation with him did not change the fact that he was a self centred fat man. How was taking her Thane away from his home.

Robert sat silent for a tense moment then chuckled. "Alright, I'll give you that one, and I will not force you into anything you do not wish to do. You protect my best friend, that is good enough for me. At least for this topic."

Herian would call about the queens' expression to cheer her up on bad days. She was thankful for her helm and smiled at the righteous anger, she thought it ruined the queen’s beauty.

"My King you seriously can't let her go like that." Cersei said to her King. She did not understand this at all, the warrior woman stood with such ease against them. She spoke with casual disrespect and for all her short stature, her presence seemed to fill the room. Dominate the minds within.

"Herian here clearly has a different way of thinking then we do, and a very interesting skill set. My queen I'd rather not piss her off, what we have now works. I will not upset the balance of the current arrangement. Ask Ned if you need anything of his friend here." Robert gestured at Herian.

Herian slightly bared her teeth at the woman, silently saying. "AS IF!"

Ned was thanking his lucky stars for Herians helm, he saw the instant change of posture from relaxed to down right aggressive. He would have to ask her why she had such a dislike for the royal family sometime soon. Rather than let the conversation continue.

"By your leave your Majesty." Ned gave Robert a quick bow and strode from the tent, giving Herian a quick flick of his wrist so she would follow.

They walked silently to Neds tent, and Herian pulled the flaps closed behind her. Softly she asked. "Did I do alright my Thane?"   
Ned flopped into a chair much to small for him. "Honestly I'm amazed it went so well. Thank you for looking out for Ayra."

"It is my job my Thane." Herian pulled down her grey hood and pulled off her helm. She ran a hand through her blood red hair and gave it a shake.

"Explain that to me, you call me Thane not Lord, what is your role to me in your homeland."

"In my homeland I would be your Housecarl, I would run your estate when you are not around, protect your person, family and interests. A bit like your stewards but with a great many more duties." She sent the heavy Daedric helm on the table beside her cot and started pulling off the grey cloth she used to disguise her armour.

"That is a lot of work for one person." Ned commented watching and thinking.

"Families are much smaller in general, the world is more dangerous. And it is not abnormal to have multiple Housecarls, one for each hold." Herian slung her daggers, bow and quiver off her back.

"So you know how to run an estate?" Ned asked.

"Aye, it's part of all Rangers education. Reading, writing, how to care for a household as well as magic and weapons training." She undid her belt and pulled her scimitars off her hips. "I read, Common, Daedric, Falmor, Altmeri with a little bit of Dwemer, Alyied and Akviri, as well as a language I only sing in. Not that those mean anything to you. I can't yet read your language, but I plan on asking Jon to teach me when we get to King’s Landing."

"Why so many languages?" Ned asked gathering up the energy to pull of his leather overcoat.

"There are many ruins in my homeland, being able to read what has been left behind is a great gift. I have spent many hours studying ruins. Plus reading can on occasion help to find traps, or reveal how to best an opponent more easily. Knowledge is power, anyone who says different is a fool." She raised her arms up and stretched to the sky.

Ned couldn't help but marvel at how well made her armour must be made to be able to stretch. "What else did you education include?"

"Beyond magic? As a Witcher, I learned how to make bombs, potions and oils, as well as having to read up on just about every monster I'd have the faintest chance of meeting. In addition to swordplay, of a style a bit more like yours then I usually use and mediation techniques. Most of my education came from books." She started removing her armour, gauntlets first.

Ned started to undress as well, his tunic was sticky with sweat and he would gladly be rid of it. "Why did you stare down the king? Why don't you like him and his family?"

Herian set her second gauntlet beside the first her table strained, she tapped a finger on it. "The King may be your friend, but he is not mine. The way I have seen it. This fat lazy king has come from the south to beg his friend to be his ‘Hand’ which as he put it involves. Running his Kingdom so he can eat, drink and whore is way to an early grave. He steals you from your home and wife. He does not have your happiness in mind." She pulled off her pauldrons and set to work removing her cuirass.

Ned stared at the dark elf, never had someone dared to speak so plainly about the King. Or so honestly, he struggled to be angry with her, but after the care she had shown taking care of his family, he could not. "And the queen?" He asked softly.

Herian scoffed. "The queen is a liar, her family is foul."

"How so?" Ned had a feeling he wouldn't like this.

"I can hear a lie, or to be specific, I can hear the increase in a persons' heart rate when they lie." She pulled the heavy metal off of her chest and Ned looked away, Herian swiftly pulled a tunic on. She more or less grasped her Thanes shyness, a cultural thing. When the started out on the road she had told her Thane that she wanted to sleep in his presence, while reluctant, he gave into it. Her argument that she could not at as a bodyguard if she was not with him was very convincing. The dark elf sat on her cot, pulled her boots off and sighed. "As for her foulness I am not sure that I should tell you."

Ned raised a brow, a frown across his lips, "You're not sure? That's quite unlike you. Normally you're quite to the point on matters. As for foulness," he mused. "I smell a fairly thick stench in the air but I wouldn't call Robert's kin such, regardless of how grating they can be on one's ears."

Herian bent over and put her head in her hands. _ This can go so shitty. _ She thought then said. "And if I told you she has an unhealthy fondness for her twin?" She muttered to the floor, rather than him, but loud enough for him to hear. "I have a very good nose, I can smell it on them."

Amongst the decorated tent, Ned's tongue vanished from his throat. The Stark stared at her, for all he had know and seen of her. He knew she was not a liar she was so new to their world that there was no benefit should she lie. Ned cleared his throat parched throat. "And, you're certain of this?"

"Aye, I'm certain. I did some eavesdropping to gather information about the Lannisters and have been watching the queen, her twin and her babes. Interbreeding with a family always had markers. Look at Joffrey for example, he has none of the King's physical marks, he is entirely Lannister. Normally I would chalk that up to a quirk, but then you count in how." She picked her next word carefully. "Irrational he his, that just compounds it, we have had mad kings in my homeland. We keep documents about who breeds with who, the more a family does not introduce fresh blood with every generation. The more twisted they become. My nose never lies, I can smell just how close the queen and her twin are and I can smell the… damn you don't have a word for it." Herian stood and paced. "Grr the word my people use is immune system. It is what determines a good blood or my word genetic mate. The more different the immune systems of the two people are the better suited they are to each other. Simply put, they smell good to each other, even humans can smell this. Joffrey smells of the Queen and her twins systems, there is no Baratheon in him. It's the same for his siblings. I don't have any proof that would hold up in one of your courts." She pulled off her greaves aggressively and set them beside the rest of her armour. Turning to him. "It's obvious, I am a bit amazed no one has noticed it up till now. Just please don't go running off with this information my Thane, there is no need to kick the hornet's nest just yet."

Silence. A thick, tense echo of nothingness flowed through the tent like a raging breeze. He sat heavily onto his bed and his posture changed to a painful slouch. "Well," he muttered bitterly, "Isn't that wonderful. What dirty rags my Queen has." Ned muttered. "I often regarded her eldest child as quite the bastard in private, but to imagine that he was literally one? My, what a mess I've stepped in." Eddard said with a sigh, he should have just stayed home.

"Personality is an indicator of many things." Herian clenched and relaxed her fists then swiftly stepped to then around behind Ned. Her hand meet his neck and she slowly started to massage the strained muscles. "I am sorry to have caused you yet more grief."

As small as it was, a small sigh escaped the Stark's lips. It wasn't much but the feeling of Herian's fingers against his rough, bristled skin helped in elevating some of the tension coursing through Ned's very veins. "An old phrase I know, is not to shoot the messenger for the words of their lord," he mused. "If anything, I'm rather glad to have heard of such a thing from you than someone else. In all realms, I'd likely never hear the end of it if told by some other's mouth. What to do with this though?”

"For now, I would do nothing. Yes the queen should answer for this offence but until we have a better idea of what is going on in King’s Landing and have proof beyond me, it would be best to keep silent. I would bet a dragon's heart that if the Queen caught wind that we knew of this. It would throw your family and the King into peril. She seems like the type of woman to favour poison, while I can sniff your food. There is no way, I am sniffing your Kings food and drink every time he goes to drink." Herian said with mirth, working up into the back of his head, fingers running over its pressure points, with just the right amount of pressure.

Across his neck, Ned felt a wave of relief pour over and down his skin, Whether it was from the feeling of a set of hands massaging his tired bones or the direction she gave him, the Stark wasn't sure. “I’d pity your nose should you try. Still the amount of stink eyes I've gotten from that woman is enough to tell me. I've seen men on the battlefield who would mean me less harm than her. Word could spread quickly around this place. The mere whisper of even an ounce of our talk could bring hell down upon you, myself, and all who bear my name."

"I must admit I am not looking forward to getting to the city. Here people are loud enough that I know who is around us at any given time. I have a feeling that not even my talents for sneaking will save us from all the spies of Kings Landing. Tell me about who will be there and what they do? I plan on writing to my Grandmother for advice, but the more I know. The more I can tell her, she is wise about this sort of thing. Her spymasters, have spymasters." She worked up the crown of his head then worked up and down in small circles.

Ned, the graveness of the predicament aside, couldn't help but chuckle. It wasn't often he found himself witnessing such a comrade doubting herself, as slight as it was. "Your Grandmother, huh? Well King's Landing is not simply a castle for the lordship of the land. To say it was but that would be putting Robert's throne to shame, as large as it is."

Rolling his shoulders, the Stark set his eyes up toward the center of the tent. "The Iron Throne is not something to belittle, as it is the very Capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Unlike the sparse North, the city surrounding Robert's keep is nothing but packed with more than enough people to fill Winterfell many times over. And even then, it's been some time since I've last been for a visit. Still, is there anything in particular you would require to know?"

"Hmm." She moved down from his head to his shoulders, switching from small circles to large ones with the palms of her hands. "When we get there I will go snooping for sewer systems, crypts, maps, old and new." She tapped his shoulder with her index finger for a moment. "But I suppose it is the politics and people which I know I shall be at a disadvantage."

The dark elf moved a lock of his black hair out of the way to work between his shoulder blades. "Is it just the Lannisters there? Does the King of siblings I should be wary of? Who will you be working with and what are their roles?"

Ned shook his head. "Oh, if only it were that simple. But no, the Lannisters are but a part of the hydra that heads King's Landing. Under the King's rule there is a council that supervises the Kingdom. After all, with land spread across Seven regions, no one man could handle such a task alone. It could drive them mad. And we've already had one mad king already."

Eddard continued. "Regardless, the 'Small' Council, is made up of several members, each with a distinct position to call their own," he explained, "There is the Hand of the King, which for the moment is myself. The Grand Maester, a fellow named Pycelle. The Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish. The Master of Whispers, who I've heard is a rather unsettling man by the name of Varys. And finally, there is the Master of Laws and the Master of Ships, both being Robert's brothers, Renly and Stannis Baratheon." Ned cross his hands together, intertwining his fingers like a net, "Each are in charge of an important position within both King's Landing and the Kingdom itself. Whenever the King requires aid on a matter, they are the ones he often looks to and even may have the council themselves handle the matter if it falls underneath their jurisdiction."

"Alright, that is not so bad. At least there are no wars right now. So this Baelish person takes care of coin and probably has a network of spies. Master of Whispers, pretty self explanatory, someone to pay attention too and not believe a word coming out of his mouth. Though, I guess that would apply to everyone there. Then a Master of Law and Ships, is it normal that that to be one person? It is a rather lot of power for one person, but then I guess new laws aren't needed often." She worked at a knotted muscle. "The Maester, what is he like? Do you think I could get him to give me access to, I don't know a library, records of the city and Lords?"

Ned frowned. "Pycelle… That old man, he likely has his own section in the nearest library. He has been the personal Maester for several Kings now, even far before Robert took the throne. The Mad King and the King before him. That man has seen more than most in King's Landing, and for that he can be very wise. It was for that reason he continued to hold his position instead of ending up on a pike in the middle of the courtyard. For information, there is a chance. He is old, not one for sly words or tricks. With enough push, I'm sure you'd be able to get something out of him. He is certainly old enough to at least point you in the direction of some sort of library or record keeping."

"Well that is something, it at least gives me an idea of where to start." The Dark elf sighed. "Were I at home I would be touching base with the local thieves guilds, but I don't think that will be an option here." She pulled away and turned her head to face the tent flap. "Someone comes, I don't recognize the gait." With a flick of her hand she snapped into invisibility.

Sure enough a minute later a courier entered the tent. "A raven in the night my Lord."

Ned rose and retrieved the small piece of paper. "Thank you, you may go."

The man fled and Ned unrolled the message, after a minute Herian reappeared her spell silently breaking.

She watched silently as she listened to Neds heart rate sky-rocked and his face grew paler and paler. "My Th-." She partly reached out, she shook her head and crossed the small space between them. She needed to snap him out of whatever was happening. "What's wrong Ned?"

Outside the tent, a breeze rocked encampment like an earthquake. Ned's hands shook just as violently, trembling down to the bone. His eyes grew wide, paler and dull like the dead. The piece of parchment crumpled, torn as he stared, unable to turn away. To an onlooker, the Lord of the North appeared as if a trance had taken hold, from his skin down to his very heart.

Yet as Herian's hands gripped the Stark's shoulders, a low mutter slipped through the cracks.

"No…" he whispered. "This can't…" Trembling, Ned raised his gaze to Herian, "This, is this genuine?"

"You know the hands of your hold better than I. Who wrote it?" She said softly.

Against those words, a stutter tore through the man's throat. A shiver down his spine. In his hands, the parchment slipped, fluttering down to the ground below. The imprints of his fingers remained, leaving holes in the piece of paper.

"It's from…" Ned muttered, "...Winterfell. There is no name. I'm not sure who wrote it, but it was sent from days prior. Something happened. An attack, sometime after we departed..."

Herian bent and snatched the paper from the floor and held it to her nose. "I can't tell who it was, it's too old." She looked at the squiggles on the page, she really needed to get on with learning to read. The dark elf slide her hand around to the small of his back and gently pushed him towards his bed. "Sit, I will get you something to drink."

Ned took the few steps then sat slumped on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.

Herian moved to their dining table, the servants had left two pitchers, she mulled the wine till it was almost completely water before returning to Ned. "Ned?" She called softly setting the cup down and kneeling before him, she wanted to reach out, but he was not her family, that would be taking a few too many liberties.

"My Thane, I can not help if you do not tell me what is wrong." She kept her tone soothing and calm.

"Cat, she." Tears picked at the corners of his eyes.

Herian read between the lines. "Gone."

The Stark nodded and his frame shook in a silently cry, he refused to look up at her.

Herian was at a loss of what to do, she had been toeing this fine line between friend and vassal. As a friend she wanted to give him a hug, as his vassal she wasn't sure if it would be appropriate. "To oblivion with it," she thought. "If it bugs him I can explain my thinking later." Slowly the dark elf stood, pulled his hands away from his face and took the small step into his embrace.

Neds head came up to just below her breast and she petted his head as he sobbed. Without thinking his arms came up around her and held her in place. Over time her shirt grew wet and the man fell into exhaustion.

"Go to sleep Ned." The Dark elf's tone remained soft.

Slowly Ned pulled away and removed the rest of his garments before lying down and turning away from her.

Herian glanced around, she really loathed to get dressed again. Swiftly she put her boots back on, then arranged her grey cloths around her, she managed to cover most all of her. Then she pulled on her gauntlets a large cloak, Neds but he wouldn't miss it for this one night then retrieved the letter from beside the food.

After pulling up her hood she made swift and silent progress through the camp, a grey wraith in the night. As she came up to the King and Queens tent she winced, they were talking. She pulled up some of her grey cloth from her throat up to hide the lower half of her face, then pulled the hood as down as it would go. She nodded to the guard and pushed her way inside the tent. "Your Majesty." She called out. Ignoring the Queens'."What are you doing here?"

Robert took in her relative state of undress and Neds cloak, her posture was tight and he couldn't help but note how much smaller she looked without her armour. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Herian swiftly crossed through the lavish tent and held out the note.

Robert grabbed it and looked a moment to read. He sat without ceremony on the side of his large bed. "Well fuck." He looked at the tense woman before him and could just make out the red of her eyes.

Herian spoke curtly. "By your leave, I would like to arrange for my Thane and his children to return to Winterfell. I have not yet asked Ned, but I would prefer to continue south with you and the rest of Neds house to prepare Kings Landing for him as best I can."

"Where is Ned?" Robert asked.

"Sleeping, I told him too and he was in no state to argue with me."

Robert nodded he could imagine it. "Can you really do that? Fill the shoes of the Hand of the King?"

"Temporarily, I do not know enough of your lands politics to be effective. But I can, I believe the phrase is 'clean house' and try to make my Thanes transition a bit easier, for when he does come south. And I have all the resources I need to do that." Herian said significantly more confident than she felt.

"Alright, Ned clearly has faith in you. So shall I."

Herian retrieved the letter, gave him a quick bow then left the tent, ignoring the Queen internally. She swiftly returned to Neds tent, he was thankfully still sleeping. Herian pulled off all of her garb save her tunic and silently laid down in her bed. The dark elf gazed at the ceiling for several minutes before cursing and getting up. She moved a rug to the foot of Ned's bed and sat down, her legs folded under her, hands in her lap. Closing her eyes she threw herself into meditation, slipping into that place between true sleep and awareness.


	8. Parting Ways

Herian rose silently and smoothly with the dawn, dressed equally quietly and slipped from the tent. People were starting to stir as she found the tent for the Stark children. Jon, Sansa and Ayra still slept. She prodded Jon into wakefulness.

“Herian?” Jon asked his brain sleep muddled.

“Get up, I want to talk to you.” She made her way out of the tent as Jon set about getting dressed.

After a minute he met her outside, the crisp light of morning making him squint.

Softly so no one would over hear. “Lady Stark was murdered, we only got the raven last night.” Herian stood close to Jon, partly hiding from the waking people.

Halfway through a yawn, Jon’s mouth snapped shut with a painful crack. His teeth felt raw and chipped, his tongue having barely avoided being chopped off at the tip. The boy’s drowsy mind awoke like a sucker-punch to his jaw. Standing just outside his tent, the youth nearly felt his legs work on their own. On reaction alone, Jon had to resist turning around to face the Witcher with a face full of shock. “Dead!?” he gasped, his tone exploding out from a mere whisper, “Murd-”

A hand swiftly found itself covering the boy’s mouth, reducing his shout to a muffled cry. Herian quickly silenced the youth, her eyes trained on the surrounding area. The two stood in silence for what seemed like minutes. Jon’s eyes were wide with shock while the Witcher narrowed her own, ready to move within a moment’s notice. 

“No one but Ned, The King and maybe his Queen and myself know. I’d like to keep it like that for as long as possible. Just be ready for it, you, your sisters and your father will be going back north. Probably just for the funeral.” Herian drew her hand away and sighed. “I didn’t think of it at the time, but go to the tower Bran fell from, see if you can find anything out of the ordinary. Different layers of dust, foot or hand prints, hair, scuffs, anything. I have been thinking about it and I find it highly unlikely that Lady Stark was the target. There must be something else going on.” Herian wanted to rub her eyes, she would dance the day she would be able to walk around without her helm. “Don’t let Ned bring anymore of his children down, if he wants to bring Ayra and Sansa, fine. But the rest are safer up there.”

“You don’t think that the assassin will try again? If Lady Stark wasn’t the target.” Jon asked.

“Here read this for me.” Herian pulled the worn note from her pocket.

Jon read allowed. “My Lord, Catayln has been murdered, the assassin is also dead. Bran has awoke but remembers nothing prior to his fall. Please return at once to Winterfell, your Lady’s body is being prepared for the funeral.” Jon turned the piece over. “There is no signature that is odd, but it looks like the Maegeters hand, maybe he was just in a hurry, forgot.” Jon looked up at her. “If Bran was the target and he doesn’t remember.”

“Then he is not a threat to whoever sent the assassin.” Herian finished. 

“I see.” Jon said.

“In the mean-time, get your sisters packed. I will be going south to start making some sense out of Kings Landing. I don’t think anyone will bother you on the way back up.” She turned and glanced around. “If possible encourage your father to leave Ayra and Sansa up there, I understand if he won’t, but the fact of the matter is that all you Starks are much safer up there.” She cocked her head to the side. “Arya has woken, break the news to her quietly if you can, I have to see to your father.”

Jon dreaded attempting that, but nodded. “Okay, see you later.”

Herian nodded and swept away, her cloak billowing around her. Jon found it odd, the elf usually did all in her power to remain unnoticed. Now with her billow and gait she oozed power.

Jon slipped back into his tent and prepared himself.

 

* * *

Herian entered the tent to see Ned sitting up legs over the side of his bed, head in his hands. She bit her lip, now or never. “I’ve spoken to the King, you and your children will return north for the funeral. I will head south and attempt to prepare Kings Landing for you.”

Eddard looked up at her and blinked slowly, Herian sighed and strode over taking his hands in her and pulling him to her feet. He towered over her. “You need to get ready to go, I’ve already spoken to Jon, he is aware and getting his sisters ready.” She let him go and fetched a new tunic and pants from a sack, walking back she offered them to him. “Get dressed.”

Even as dull eyed as Ned was he managed to follow that ordered, slowly growing more aware. When he was ready for the day she called in the vassals outside, a half dozen people zipped in and started packing. Herian shouldered her satchel and barked. “Everything but the Lords clothing goes south, pack the rest for a trip north.”

The Witcher pulled Ned carefully from the tent and they started back towards the children's tent. Halfway there, Ned finally found his voice.

“You’ve been busy.” He said mutely.

Herian shrugged. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

When they came into sight of the tent, Sansa and Ayra were standing beside Jon, eyes red, their clothes in bags by their feet. Seeing their father the girls ran the last little way and collided with him.

Ned stood tall and ridge for a moment before wrapping his arms around his girls as they wept anew.

Herian scanned the area and was surprised to see the King approaching them, four strong looking horse being led behind him, all ready for travel.

“Ned.” The King took and held Neds shoulder for a moment, as the Lord’s arms will still full of young girl. “Four of my finest horses. They’ll get you back swiftly.”

Ned partially bowed his head. “Thank you.”

The men from Ned’s tent gathered up the young Starks clothing and put it on the fourth horse with their fathers.

Robert shook his head. “It’s the least I could do, I will leave you to your breakfast.” The King turned away returning the way he had come.

The Starks ate their breakfast quietly and set off back north, Herian nodded to each in passing.

The camp was very swiftly dismantled after that and the company was soon on the road again. Herian begrudgingly riding at the King's right hand, her horse was the same gentle mare content to follow. So she pulled out a book, a pencil and a long empty scroll.

 

_ Hello Grandmother _

 

__ _ I know I don’t generally bother you much but I have found myself in a situation that is more your thing then mine. While chasing down that rogue sect you had me after, I found myself transported to another world. I have as of yet been unable to determine if the transport was related to the sect or just uncle Sheo fucking with me. I am inclined to believe the latter. Any way not the point of this letter, I did something rather stupid and have found myself as a vassal to a Lord. Not that I have any real problem with that, he saved my life and it was the first thing that came to mind. This Lord's wife has just been murdered, we were on our way to this city called. “Kings Landing” odd name but I am sure I will find out why it is called that at some point. _

__ _ I wish to ask for your help with figured out how to work in this city. I am filling the role of “Hand of the King” till my Thane returns from his wife's funeral. At this time I do not know just what I will be doing, but I do know there is backstabbing to avoid and spies to find. The council of the King has members each to their own typical role, lore keeper, spy master, coin master, law and ship master. It is my understanding that this group plus the Hand of the King makes decisions regarding the whole realm. Any ideas you have on how to keep all these ducks in a line, I will endlessly appreciate it. _

_ Another problem I have been facing for some time is that they have very different magic from our own. Our really any lands magics I have encountered so far, it made me sick for a week trying to adjust to it. They have no elves in this land and would handle my appearance very poorly. Needless to say running around in full kit will soon stop being a viable option. The farther south we go the hotter it gets, and as you know. Daedric is NOT made for warm weather, I am roasting. Even for a dark elf. I left some of my savings with Chani, if you could commission some lighter wear for me I would be very grateful. The sigil of the house I have entered is a direwolf. _

 

She drew a quick sketch of the sigil of House Stark.

 

_ Light grey, is their colour, I need these clothes to completely cover my skin, I have been thinking that a mask or two might work as well. Maybe one of the Face of the Tribunal and another styled after a wolf? I am sure you can appreciate the irony of that. _

_ Lastly I have taken an apprentice. Don’t go dying of shock on me now. If you still have it, the Ice Blade of the Monarch would be a very fitting blade for him if you are willing to part with it. _

_ On that note if you could also collect my Witcher gear, (don’t forget my tox resist trinkets) from Ghani? And ask her if she had any witcher texts she would be willing to part with? If not, I would like copies of just about ALL of them, I have coin from a few contracts squirrelled under a stone under my bed at Kaer Morhen. This world has places of power, my guess is that the conjunction of spheres has happened here at one point, while it still made me ill. As I grow more used to it, the realm’s magic is of a similar flavor. Though it seems to be connected to the seasons, I have a feeling it will get stronger as winter comes. And a few weeks ago I found and killed a Leshen, I’ve done some tinkering and its parts have the same effects they do at Ghani’s home. Lots of interesting bits and pieces here, I will continue to try and find the rest and report. _

 

_ Love you _

 

_ Herian Indoril, Witcher and Ranger _

 

Herian rolled up the scroll, put the book and pencil back within her satchel, then pulled out a small ornate box. She popped open the Moon and Star lock and put the scroll in, the inside of the box was much bigger than the outside. She took the Moon and Star amulet around her neck and gently squeezed it with two fingers. The lock of the box softly glowed and faded, Herian grinned and put it back in her satchel.

“A letter to home?”

Amidst closing her satchel, a man’s voice cropped up from Herian’s side. Swiftly, the Witcher felt the urge to roll her eyes come about. Though with a bit of effort, she managed to resist such a notion and instead focused her gaze back on the road in front of her.

The King chuckled. “That was quite a good sum of scribbling. Anymore and I might have gotten the wrong notion and thought you a scribe.”

“Home has been a hundred places, and none at all, unless you count places to hide things. Then I only have two of those. As for writing, it’s a useful skill to have. Be it music, or in this case. A letter to one of those resources I mentioned before, plus I asked her to send me clothes. It’s getting much to warm for this armour.” The Dark elf rolled her shoulders, it was very hot.

Robert let loose a deep chuckle. He even bounced atop his mount, much to the poor creature’s misfortune, “Ah, fair I suppose.”

“By Eddard’s words, you’ve spent quite a long time up in the North.” he mused, “The weather might be a bit warmer than you’re used to once we reach the lands ahead. Such heavy armour might not be necessary.”

Despite such words, the King glanced down at himself another snicker, “Though, I am one to talk. One in such a position as I is almost always required to wear such, complicated garb. Can be quite the bother from time to time.”

Herian shrugged. “I have lived most of my life in amour of one sort or another. Just this armour is made for much heavier hitters then I have seen so far here. Lighter garb will go a long way, for both the heat and how fast I am able to move. I do prefer the North, I am much more at home in a forest then cities. Though that Wall you have up there, that is too cold even for me.”

“The Wall?” Robert asked. “Ah, understandable. I’ve yet to meet one person who can truly stand to be around that colossal wall of ice. Sometimes I often wonder how the men who patrol it can even feel the skin beneath their gloves.”

Regardless, the King shrugged, “Be that as it may though, the Night’s Watch hold an important duty at the wall, so it is understandable how they can withstand such chills. As for forests, I’m sorry for that. It has been many a year since King’s Landing has had forests to hunt in, or to spend time away from the chatter of the crowds. The trees, the wide spreading greenery of North is one of the reasons I have enjoyed my visit. As brief as it has been.”

“I landed here beyond your wall,” The dark elf chuckled. “I doubt the trees have recovered from it. I learned your language listening to the Night’s Watchmen. There was much bitching about the cold. Though if it is such an important duty, why are the majority of the men criminals of one flavour or another? You just hand these men a pardon, provided they freeze their bits off. The guard around here is so obvious that any of those men could leave the wall if they had the balls too and you would be none the wiser.”

Raising a hand, the King awkwardly coughed into his enclosed fist and shook his head. “ An opinion is as entitled to one as their own name. As for the Night’s Watch?” He mused, “That, is not for me to decide. The Night’s Watch is an order that has long existed before I was on my throne, or the throne itself exited at all. They exist in their own right, standing guard for all time against whatever might be lurking behind the icy fortress that is the Wall.” The King chuckled again. “And for the threat of them turning tail and running from their duty? Well, no one looks favourably on that. Be it the Watch themselves or the other lords of the North, a deserter of the Watch is a traitor and there is but one punishment for that.”

The King spared a glance at Herian and ran his finger underneath his throat, “Your head. No argument or explanation needed. You can ask Ned that yourself, if you find the need to.”

“I was there when he lopped the head of the last one.” Herian purred. “That was one lovely sword. Though,” she paused for a moment. “What is a White Walker? The man was saying that he had seen one. I hadn’t while I was on the far side of the wall, but that said I found the wall and got under within a few days. But the poor fool was not lying, I didn’t feel it was my place to interrupt Ned, but it has got me thinking. I found a Leshen and a Direwolf on this side of the wall, now there are whatever a White Walker is on the other side.” She glanced over at Robert. “I took Jon to a Place of Power to wake his mind and body to magic, and it worked rather alarmingly well. Three major creatures in space of a two months. Something is brewing, things like this don’t happen without reasons.” Her tone was low and rumbling, she fought away the memories of Witcher contracts, many were like this. Many little things that would end up in a crescendo of ‘oh fuck’ and most people weren’t smart enough to contact a Witcher before it got to that point.

Herian had a feeling that her prodding wouldn’t get more attention focused on the Wall, but maybe she could learn something here. Then try to approach it again from a different angle.

Robert raised a brow. Many of the words this woman used made little sense to him, though the mention of the Leshen caused the King’s ears to bleed. The memory of the revolting head that Ned had showed him burned to life like a re-igniting flame. It burned, flared in his mind, as if someone had shoved a sharp burning poker into his ear.

Unwilling to remember the sight again, Robert rubbed his forehead and tried to stay on topic. He remembered the elf’s first question and focused on that, “Ah, the White Walkers? That is a tale in themselves. They’re amongst those creatures I mentioned, the fabled tales of the things that lay beyond the Wall, what the Night’s Watch protects us from. To most, such as myself as I admit, they are but legends. Tales to tell the youth to scare them back into their beds. To make them fear the long night, so they don’t stay up too late at night and miss the dawn of the next day.”

Whilst rubbing the gap between his eyes, Robert shrugged, “The best I know of them is of the tales my father told me. Cold, frigid creatures. Skin colder than ice, rougher than bark on the toughest of oak trees. Eyes so blue that they would make even the sky jealous with envy. Whatever else is known of them is either lost to the ages, or just folk stories told around campfires to get a stir from those sitting amongst it.”

“They sound like crosses between Daugr and Hounds of the Wild hunt. It’s probably a very good thing I asked for all my gear. I’ll have to get Jon a different sword as well.” Herian mused.

The King spared the elf a glance. “They are horrific creatures. There is a reason why most mothers and fathers often use them to scare their children. The Long Night is a fit of history we all would fear to see come around again. But, it is unlikely. The Walkers are but a legend and the Wall is all but impossible to overtake. If it was, the Wildlings would have overtaken us long ago. I would not worry as much about it as you might find yourself doing.”

“Never say something is impossible. It will come back and bite you. As for the legend aspect of it, from the research I have managed, I believe your world goes through cycles. And I think you have one coming up, I think this winter will be very interesting. And if they are like Daugr or Hounds of the Wild hunt, then I shall take delight in setting them on fire. The undead are pretty universal from my Grandmother's stories, and fire always works.” Herian crossed her arms, just one more thing she would have to dig through tomes looking for.

“Does it now?” Robert mused, one brow raised. “That is... interesting.”

The more Herian spoke, the more and more the King found himself confused. He still had many questions where she was concerned. The proof was in his face, but even then there were explanations for that. “Well,” Robert muttered, loosening his collar as he did, “That is, good to know.”

Herian drew Fang from her right side and pressed her thumb to the pommel, the blade light up with a soft fire dancing along its length, she held it between them so the casual passer buyer wouldn’t be able to see it. “Believe me now?” She was being much more direct with Robert unlike Ned, he needed to have the information shoved down his throat and forced to swallow before he would believe.

Flames flickered in front of the King’s eyes. The embers were warm and soft, like a soothing wave of water. Before him though, words failed Robert. His eyes grew wide, jaw slanted, and throat as empty as a canteen after a hot day. The reins of his mount slipped through his fingers, the King’s shock came close to causing the horse to roam free. 

Thankfully at what seemed to be the last moment, Robert snapped to his senses and caught the reins. He steered the mount back on course, much to his own embarrassment. With sweat dripping down his brow, the King shook his head. He offered the lady a small smile, though shallow and fooled very few. “Ah, that’s quite something.” He muttered. His eyes strained as they focused on the flames, the fire dancing upon the sword like a dancer on stage. 

Herian smiled and touched the cross-guard again, the flames faded way. “The other one is enchanted with frost, and my bow has yet more fire. I leave the enchantments dormant for the most part, it wouldn’t do for me to forget to turn them off one day. I don’t want to think about how you humans would take a flaming sword.” She sheathed the Daedric scimitar. “Though I imagine when I get my things I will switch over to my Witcher sword, it is much more like yours and less. Uh, obviously otherworldly.”

One of the King’s eyes twitched, ever so slightly. “I would assume so. I have seen quite a few forges in my years but never one that could forge a blade such as that. Not even Valyrian steel could produce such effects, or at least as I’ve seen. Ned would be much more knowledgeable on that subject.”

Herian shook her head. “You know, I can hear your heart rate. I get having to wrap your head around magic, would you like some other type of demonstration? I was a bit mean to Eddard as I just transformed a hand before him, no tricks in that. Though I would be very unwise to do so now. Or is there something else you are having trouble with?”

Robert blinked to himself and shook his head, “No, no. Not at all.”

“Though you’d be right to say that I’m having a bit of trouble coming to terms with all of this,” he mused, much to his regret. The King lowered his head. “In truth, Ned had showed me the head of that creature you mentioned earlier. The Leshen if I recall correctly? At the moment, I felt overwhelmed at such a sight. My tongue was tied, rather tightly to boot.”

Again, the King spared the Dark elf a glance. “Though, if I were to be honest?”

“Whatever ‘demonstration’ you might be considering, may well be too much for this old heart.” He admitted. “I am barely holding it together as it is.”

Herian laughed. “If you put the wine down you might find that your heart lasts you a bit longer.” She shook her head. “No matter where you are, humans are always the same. So afraid, how does your kind do it? As I said before, I think your world is cycling, soon you will have a lot more to worry about then Leshens and Direwolves. Sticking your head in the sand is not going to make them go away. That is even running under the assumption that there isn’t enough magic in the land for physical manifestations to occur. If that does end up the case, I am going to have to train Jon MUCH faster.” The Witcher chuckled. “The day I meet a human who says “COOL MAGIC” I will strip naked and dance in a rainstorm. Herian sighed and shook her head. “Sorry, but as I am sure you can guess this happens to me a lot.”

Robert blinked. “Aye, that is becoming somewhat apparent.”

Oddly, the King was somewhat beginning to understand why Ned had refused to explain almost anything about such a woman. Her secrets, her history, the tools and weapons she held. Even who and what she was, all of it had began to make sense to the Lord. Even more so as their conversation continued on. Yet out of all of those reasonings, Robert had a good feeling that there was an even better reason regarding his old friend’s refusal.

Perhaps Ned was just as clueless as he was in regards to what made Herian tick. Robert shook his head and tried to repress the urge to groan. Maybe she was right about going easy on all that wine. The damn drink just had to tempt him so, didn’t it?

“Would you like to hear a story? One of magic, men and war? Fair warning, it doesn’t have a happy ending. But a main character reminds me much of you, maybe you’ll learn something.” Herian purred, oh she had the perfect story in mind. One of Geralt’s adventures he had on his way to find Ciri.

Robert did his best not to send a stare her way, “In my time, it is common ground that such things as a happy endings do not exist. Or at the least, are much more rare than any of the treasure that exists in the world.”

Memories of what he and Ned had lost. The people that had fallen in their path to glory. A rebellion drenched in blood. The heads of their comrades and foes. The loss of love and family, all on the way to where they now stood. They were lords of their own lands and had many things to justify what they had done in the past. Yet as the days grew shorter and the nights longer, the aspect of a happy ending for either of them seemed ever more bleak.

Shaking his head of such thoughts, Robert rolled his eyes and gave his shoulders a shrug.

“But why not? Perhaps such a tale could help along with this dreadfully long trip?” he mused with a slight smile.

“This tale takes place in a land called Velen, a bit of nice farmland more or less surrounded by a stinking swamp. My unofficial uncle by the name of Geralt of Riva, had come to this place searching for his adopted daughter Ciri, a child of the Elder Blood. He had met with a beautiful sorceress by the name of Yennefer, she pointed him to Velen, while she went to a coastal collection of islands that make up Skellige. Eventually Geralt makes his way up to the keep of a man they called The Bloody Baron. A large, portly man and recently retired from war. This Baron did have information on what had happened to Ciri, but refused to give it to Geralt. In exchange for his information he wanted Geralt to find his wife Anna and daughter Tamara. Who had recently disappeared. Geralt agreed to this bargain and starts his search in the rooms of the barons daughter and wife. Geralt is a Witcher, but unlike myself he underwent mutations that gave him great physical enhancements, from his bones to his senses. He finds evidence of wine and blood, a brawl in the rooms. In the daughters room he find a little doll talisman, rather odd that it was left. Our witcher asked the Baron about this talisman and the baron points him to a local pellar. This pellar has the power to see the past, given the right tools. Like say a doll dear to the girl. Unfortunately this pellar doesn’t see what happened to the wife and daughter, but the spirit says to him instead.”

_ “They are gone, but the child remains.” _

“To which Geralt asks who's child. As it turns out the child was the miscarried daughter of the Barons wife. He asked the pellar if the Baron had anything to do with his wifes miscarriage. The pellar reveals that the Baron has a foul temper and a fondness for hooch. But this pellar was near blind, but this faithful companion a goat. Licked Anna’s hand when she visited, so he had faith that the Baron did turn his hand to his wife. When blind and furious with the drink. The pellar then goes on the say the miscarried child was buried without name or ceremony, away from its family. But now it has arisen and roams seeking vengeance. Geralt recognizes this description as that of a Botchling. A botchling happens when a miscarried child is buried improperly, they hide around pregnant woman draining there strength till they are to weak to fight back. Then it comes and drinks her blood, eventually killing both the woman and her babe. They look like large babes, but with dark pink skin an umbilical cord wrapped around there neck with several rows of pointed teeth and a long purple tongue.”

“The pellar tells Geralt that the botchling will help, that its state is a curse and if Geralt lifts its curse it will then help. Guide Geralt to the rest of its family. To lift the curse the Baron must bury the botchling the barons threshold and give the babe the elven naming ceremony of Aymm Rhoin.”

“Upon returning to Crows perch Geralt finds that the stables have been set ablaze. After rescuing the stable man the Baron comes out obviously very drunk.” Herian grinned. “Now this bit I do remember the details off. It was dark and raining when Geralt confronted the Baron.”

_ The baron walked over to Geralt arms wide and laughing. “Ha ha ha ha, we’ve a hero in our midst.” Raising an arm joyously. “You’ve earned yourself a barrel of Lyrian!” _

_ Geralt glared at the man. “I know your wife miscarried. Was that before or after you beat her to a pulp?” _

“ _ What the fuck are you suggesting?” The Baron’s mood changed instantly gone was the joyous man instead a dark tone was brought to him. _

_ Geralt waved an arm dismissively. “Don’t play me for a fool. You’d been beating them for years. Finally, they’d had enough and fled. Sound about right?” _

_ The baron snarled and attacked, Geralt swiftly and easy knocked the baron flat. He grabbed the large man and dragged him over to a trough and shoved his head into the freezing water twice before letting go and backing off. _

_ Glaring down at the coughing man Geralt growled. “We need to talk.” _

_ Geralt and the Baron move back into his house and the baron stands by the fire, trying to clear the last of the drink from his mind. _

“ _ Sit down.” The witcher says from his place, leaning against a desk. “You beat them.” _

_ The baron slowly sits in an ornate wooden chair. “I never laid a finger on Tamara, not once.” _

“ _ And on Anna?” _

“ _ That’s another story, she always knew how to spark my ire.” _

“ _ You knew they had run away from the start.” _

“ _ Yes I knew.” The baron growled. _

_ Geralt got up and walked over to the fire. “Why didn’t you tell me? Wasted my time.”  _

“ _ Say I had? Say I’d said I had troubles, couldn’t control my wife, my daughter? What kind of flaccid prick would you take me for?” _

“ _ Tell me everything you remember about the day they fled. The truth this time.” Geralt sat beside the baron on the same style of chair. _

“ _ I’d been soakin’ myself three days straight. Anna came to me, said they were leaving. I begged them to stay. She refused to hear it. I tried to stop her. She wriggled like an eel, we struggled… she fell. Last blasted thing I remember. Woke up in the morn, breeches heavy with me own piss, a large bump on my head. Sadly, they were gone. Know what that’s like witcher? No, how the fuck could you? I was left with nothing! Nothing! Only the bottle...” _

“ _ What happened next?” Geralt was unmoved by this display. _

“ _ Next… it only got worse. I awoke at sunset, not knowin’ how many days had passed.” The baron stared down at his big hands. “Thought it was all a ploughin’ drunken nightmare. An’ then I went to the bedchamber, but Anna was not there. Instead… there was blood everywhere. I knew. She’d miscarried. My breath short, my throat locked, I neared the bed… and saw it. It lay there. A tiny thing, defenceless… on bloodied sheets… dead. And it was my doing.” _

“ _ Maybe you're doing, maybe not - but the amulet she wore could be important. Or maybe the fact that she lost it.” _

_ The baron looked away. _

“ _ What did you do with the child?” Geralt growled. _

“ _ What was I to do? Took it out and buried it.” _

“ _ Just like that?” Geralt said softly. _

“ _ Damn you! I gave no thought to a funeral. It was a horror. I wanted it to end. That child had been my dream, I told Anna. “A little one, our little one, to make things right” yet she died before she could be born. Understand, witcher? My child was dead.” The pain was clear in the large man's voice. _

“ _ Get a hold of yourself. Men like you, when they break down, look downright pathetic.” Geralt was not impressed. _

“ _ You’re a heartless bastard.” The baron did not look to the witcher. _

“ _ Huh, mutations worked, then.” Geralt said calmly. “But here’s the good news - your dead child might help us find the one who’s still alive… and your wife.” _

“ _ What? How?” The baron finally looked over. _

“ _ Sometimes miscarried fetuses, if they don’t get a proper burial, turn into botchlings.” _

“ _ Into, fucking, what…?” _

“ _ A cursed creature that draws strength from killing pregnant women. Once it’s strong enough, it attacks those who scorned it.” Geralt watched as the baron got up and walked to the fire. _

“ _ But now… how does it know?” _

“ _ Blood ties. They’re a strong bond, a bond I want to use to find your family.” _

“ _ How?” _

“ _ One of two ways. Legends claim that you can bury a botchling under the family’s threshold, perform a ritual and turn it into a lubberkin. That’s a sort of, uhh… hob, a guardian spirit that could lead me to your family.” _

“ _ And the other way?” The baron turned to the sitting witcher. _

“ _ We kill it and draw some blood. Take that to the pellar and he does the rest.” Geralt got up. _

“ _ Do not kill my child. It’s suffered enough already. Lift the curse, that it may finally rest in peace.” _

_ Geralt shrugged. “Whatever we do, we gotta find the botching first.” _

“ _ I’ll show you where I buried her. And I’ll dig the grave at my threshold.” _

“ _ If it turns out we can’t transform the botchling into a lubberkin, they can bury us in it. Handy either way. The sooner we resolve this, the better. Best do it tonight, at midnight.” _

“ _ Then wait here with me. Near midnight I’ll take you to where I buried her.” _

“ _ Get word to the common folk. Oughta stay in their homes tonight and raw a line of salt outside their doors.” Geralt glared disheartedly at the baron. “And try to sober up.” _

“ _ Do I take a shovel, to dig up the grave?” _

“ _ Take it. You’ll need it, but not for that.” _

“So it turned out that the baron had buried his child in a burned down ruin of a house. They decided to turn it into a lubberkin. The baron had to pick it up and take it back up to his home. The poor man did, trying to right his wrongs. Geralt guard the baron from wraiths that had been drawn to the scent of the botchling, eventually they made their way back up to the house. There Geralt guided the baron through the ritual.”

“ _ What now?” The baron asked, holding the botchling carefully, like he would a babe. _

“ _ Repeat after me.” Geralt said. “By the powers of earth and sky.” _

“ _ By the powers of earth and sky.” _

‘ _ By the world that was to be your home.” Geralt continued. _

“ _ By the world that was to be your home.” _

_ The Witcher continued softly, watching the baron and botchling. ‘Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace.” _

_ The baron fought down tears. “Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace.” _

“ _ I name thee - say her name - and embrace thee as my daughter.” _

“ _ I name thee Dea and embrace thee as my my daughter.” The botchling reached for him for a moment then fell asleep. _

“ _ Good.”  Geralt said. “Now bury it.” _

“The baron did and Geralt stayed behind to wait for the day and night. Sure enough the ritual worked and the spirit led Geralt to a fisherman's hut, who relieved that Tamara had moved on to Oxenfurt and that Miss Anna had been taken to Crookback Bog, to work for the three crones. Geralt bids the lubberkin farewell and heads back to the baron to report.” Herian sighed. “From here on the Crones, take the head. Geralt managed to free Anna from the crones, but she had been turned into a Waterhag, while he managed to break that curse as well but the damage was done. Anna died and later when he returned to the crows perch, Geralt had found that the Baron had hanged himself.”  Herian looked away. “All because of hooch and a life without love.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Robert stared at Herian with wide eyes, his mouth agape for what seemed like an hour or more. Any longer and the Witcher thought that flies would take root in the man’s maw. Soon enough though, the silence passed. The King tore his eyes away from his travelling companion and gazed at the road in front of them. His mount trotted down the dirt path without a care, unaware of the tale the Dark elf had spun. The dumb creature was as blind to their words as Robert had been to many of the names and phrases that had been drilled into his mind.

For once, the King was more than envious of the creature. To be oblivious, normally the only way he could come about such pleasantries were when a bottle was involved. Maybe two, or three. Sometimes it seemed like a case could have been good enough.

Taking a deep breath, Robert lowered his shoulders and rubbed his eyes. The King had very little he could think of to say when it concerned such an enthralling tale. What could he say? Laugh it off, pity the poor sod of a baron she had spoken of? Both seemed ill advised, for more than a few reasons he could think of.

If not the worst being, how familiar it sounded. Which was odd. Robert was sure he had never heard of a tale such as that. The creatures, the locations, the places, everything sounded like it had taken place off the side of a far off, unknown land. Yet for some reason or another, the King could not shake the chills that ran down his spine. They clutched his back, like claws off the tips of the mightiest of birds or even a man’s hand grabbing at his wrist, so thin that he might as well of been but skin and bones. 

After a few moments of silence, Robert wiped the sweat from his brow. He flicked the salty fluid off his hand and took the reins of his stead once more. Both the man’s eyes focused on the road once again, a much relieved sight if any.

“Well then,” he muttered with a shaken tone, “You were not kidding when you claimed that it was quite the tale. It’s certainly not like any I’ve heard before, and I’ve heard quite a few in my time.”

“And it’s a true one to boot, I shortened it a rather lot, but then I wasn’t there. I only gave the additional detail where I remembered it from Geralts' retelling. I haven’t had a contract like that one, but that was personal for both Geralt and the Baron for many reasons. Now two of the three Crones are dead, Harimad was thinking about hunting down the last when we parted ways.” Herian rocked gently on her horse, her legs were starting to complain. “Most Witcher contracts aren’t like that, usually it’s just monster slaying, or the occasional curse.” She hugged herself. “I am glad to have never been in that situation, I have had some close calls with dunkards, but then I have always been stronger than any normal man. I can’t being to grasp what the poor fool went through. And Geralt had to pick out the evil.” She focused on her horse's ears. “Though I honestly miss Witchers work, I guess I miss Kaer Morhen and that world more than I thought. I didn’t think that story would remind me so much of what I left behind.”

Herian thought about her travels on the Path, of monsters and men. Silver and Steel, it would be good to hold those blades in her hands again. Rangers work was very alike Witchers, both groups spent their lives wandering from place to place. But Rangers work was more political and always involved killing of one form or another. Witchers work was much kinder in that way, the good and bad were easier to sort out. Vesemir would say. “ _ It used to be easy, humans good, monsters bad. Now it’s all muddled.” _ Herian glanced at Robert, then at the road, all this world needed was monsters and it would be the same. Or maybe it already had its monsters, men came in a thousand different flavours. She missed curse breaking, it was rewarding in a way slaying monsters or men would never be.

“The little things can often do that,” Robert replied. “You can avoid the larger aspects of your past, but the little things can simply creep up at any moment when you’re least suspecting it. A name mentioned out of the blue, someone remembering a place you once visited, and the odd mention of a knife that once came a bit too close to your neck one too many times.”

Robert shifted atop his horse, “I won’t try to imagine what you left behind in all its glory, but it often is hard to forget about them. Sometimes I too find myself remembering the days of my past, the time I spent with my father. Spending the wee hours of my youth with others such as myself. You’d be surprised at all the small things that can bring up some unfortunate memories.”

“Such as the sea for instance,” he noted. “In King’s Landing I often try to avoid gazing off into the blue seas of the port. It simply does not suit me well, not since a time long ago, back in my youth. It was the same time I actually came well acquainted with your lord actually, back when the two of us were being fostered by Lord Arryn, my former Hand to which you’re standing in for now.”

For a moment, Robert gazed up at the sky and looked upon with a gaze. The light blue of the sky reminded him of the ocean, with clouds acting as the vicious waves that tore everything they touched apart. 

It reminded him of that day long, long ago atop the walls of Storm’s End. It was just him and his brother, both gazing out to sea as their parent’s ship was torn asunder by the waves. They were so close to port, and yet within a moment, both were gone. Disappeared beneath the waves in an instant with nothing but the shattered planks of their ship to remind him and Stannis of what they had lost that day, and what they still had.

“I had noticed that, Ned has times when he fades away. I think he is remember your war, that always leaves marks, scars. Sometimes they get better with time, others not. I haven’t fought in a war and beyond the death of my mother. I don’t have any triggers, like you and your war veterans do.” She looked down at her hands. “Some wounds don’t heal.”

Robert bit back a sigh. “No, they do not. The rebellion left many of us with wounds that have not and likely will never heal. The physical scars remind us of the terror we faced when dethroning the mad King and the emotional ones? Well, Ned and I both share such wounds. In fact, the matter of his recent loss must have been even more painful for him because of it. It was a savage time, and not one any of us are eager to see again anytime soon.”

The Targaryens had taken much from Ned. The poor soul had lost not only his brother and father to the mad King, but the Prince sought to take his sister as well. Robert remembered clearly that day he saw the Stark again, and even then he could see the icy chill creep into his already bleeding heart.

“Do you have any ideas on how I could help Ned? Beyond what I am already doing? The best I can think of is trying to sort out whatever mess you’ve made and keeping an eye out for people who wish him harm.” Herian just managed to keep from scowling.

“For Ned?” he mused. “That is easier said than done. Since the Rebellion Ned has been infamously known as the Lord of the North with the frozen heart. He rarely lets people in when he can. I’ve heard more than a few whispers of people wondering if his very skin is made of ice due to how stern he often appears.”

“But when it concerns my old friend? Well, you’re not on the wrong path. Ned has always been the type to look out for those he trusts. The mere fact that you’re doing the same for him in turn is surely to help him along. The poor sod often tries too hard to keep people he cares for safe. Its left him rather ragged on more times than I can count.”

“Well I asked Jon to see if he could keep Ned from bringing the rest of his family down. They are much safer in Winterfell, as it is I will have my hands full with just Ned and Jon. And you, when it’s convenient for me.” She stuck her tongue out, though with her helm the action was mute. “Sansa I can trust to be predictable and Ayra needs a distraction to keep her out of trouble.” Herian threw her arms up. “The rest of them I don’t have the faintest idea how to keep them safe, if he does bring them south.”

The hunter’s exasperation earned a small chuckle from the King. From his past experience with Ned himself, her annoyance with the Stark clan was not something that surprised the King too much. In fact, if she wasn’t at all irritated, Robert might have thought the Witcher a saint of some kind.

“Ah, that is quite the matter.” he chuckled, “At times I often envy my friend’s large family, but others? I often wonder how he hasn’t gone mad himself while dealing with them all. The sheer fact that you’re taking charge of keeping each of his children under your watch is little more than a monumental task in itself.”

The King waved his hand in the air, “Still, how to handle such a matter. Unless you’re willing to hire aids to your cause, that is quite the troublesome matter. I’d honestly have trouble myself in keeping them in line. Sorry to say but unless you know how to keep an eye on each of them at all times, I’m at a loss just as you are.”

Herian wanted to rub her temples, this job was going to age her years in advance. “Bloodly, fucking, buggering hell.” She muttered rather loudly and resisted the need to shout. “I’m gonna need to go for a run when we stop for the night, or I will go mad.”

Robert leaned forward and let loose a deep, hearty laugh, “Ha! Ah, fair enough. We all need something to let off some steam at times. The last thing I would like to see is my Right Hand to go mad before we even reach home.”

Herian shrugged and laughed. “I’m used to just looking after my own skin, keeping tabs on six other people is going to be challenging. I mean here,” she pulled her amulet from around the neck and offered it to the King. “The wolf head is my Witcher Medallion, the little tooth is a totem of Hircine and the white moon and star was made by my grandmother. It has magic that lets her know how I am at any given time that she wishes to know. It has other properties as well but that is not the point. I have eight uncles and aunts, everyone in my family has one of these. Just so we know that we each are safe. That doesn’t count cousins or half siblings. She only started making these when she lost my eldest aunts and uncle for over two centuries. Imagine trying to keep track of all that without help!”

Gazing at the amulet, Robert blinked. Till now the King had assumed that the medallion was simply something from the Stark House. It looked similar enough to a direwolf that anyone who saw it could have easily mistaken it for something forged by the smiths of Winterfell. As he gazed at the piece of metal though, Robert struggled to wrap his head around everything he had been told. Hell, the range of Herian’s family was close to mind blowing enough as it was, not to mention the time-frame.

Did she really say two centuries? Or had Robert heard wrong?

“My, you weren’t kidding.” he muttered, “Something like that would make Ned’s family seem like nothing more than trying to keep track of some mice in a cage. I’d throw up my hands in defeat if I was in such shoes.”

“I’m just glad it’s Grandmother keeping track and not me. When you live for so long, families do get big, even if you only have a child or two a century.” She sighed. “I will just hope that Ned is of sound enough mind to leave Rob and the rest up there.”

Robert shrugged, “I’m sure Ned will. If there is one thing I’ve always known, it's that family always comes first with Ned. He’ll make the right decision, especially after the recent events. He is a thick headed, stern Lord, but a family man is what truly lies beneath that icy exterior, along with all the wolf pelts.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She looked down at the reins of her horse and blushed, she gathered them up and offered them to him. “I would like to meditate if it’s alright with you, and well. I have a fear of horses.”

The King raised a brow. He looked at the reins and considered the prospect, “A fear of horses? You? I would never have imagined such a thing. By your tales, I had half expected you to be afraid of nothing but the devil itself. Ah well, that is fine with me.” The lord reached over and took the reins from the Dark elf. “I’ll keep a hand on the steads in the meanwhile. Is not any trouble at all.”

“Thank you.” Herain, flexed her thighs and rose slightly on the horse, set her hand to rest on her thighs and closed her eyes.

Robert could see when her breathing slowed to a rate akin to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardy: Thank you too: LadyJensen, darkvampirekisses and Drake86 for you comments.
> 
> So question for people. My first run at this story I don't feel I did a very good job with Cersei, Joffery or Jamie. I'd really like to use them more, if people have any ideas I'm all ears as I am trying to add to this arc of the story as much as possible as I feel it's the weakest of them. Sandor and Tyrion will still be coming in later but I do feel I need to do a better job with them as well.


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